


Just A Happy Ending

by CanisLore



Category: Batim - Fandom, Bendy and the Ink Machine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 40
Words: 66,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26008747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanisLore/pseuds/CanisLore
Summary: Bendy has never had a happy ending; it's all he's ever wanted. But after so many years of living under a lie, will he trust anyone to save him?
Comments: 41
Kudos: 57





	1. Prologue

** TWO**

The resurrection worked.  
I can hunt.

** THIRTEEN**

Sammy Lawrence.  
I hated that musician.   
His screams were the only good music he ever made.

**FORTY-THREE**

He keeps getting caught.  
Looks like I'll be ripping off a projector's head.

**SIXTY**

**** He came alone.   
My own words betray me.  
He has the reel.  
Good.  
  


**EIGHTY-THREE**

**** He's a persistent little-

**EIGHTY-FIVE**

He won.   
He did what he was supposed to.  
He saw what I wanted.

. . .

Eighty-five deaths.  
Those don't count.

. . .

 _Cycles_ count.

. . .

Number one.


	2. CYCLE 413

**Nothing different.**

**Nothing changed.**

**Dreaming of**

**The Illusion of Living.**

**. . .**

**No one will set you free.**

**. . .**

**Play nice. Play along.**

**The Ink Machine will continue its song.**

**. . .**

**Number four-hundred and thirteen**


	3. Deviation

“ _NOT MONSTERS_ ,” read the messy lettering. Henry regarded the text over the building’s doorway for a few moments, then readied his pipe to smash away the boards blocking the entrance.

An axe from the other side cut them down before he could. The furious, warbled voice of Sammy Lawrence boomed from the dark, “ _ **BETRAYED!!! ABANDONED!!!**_ ” The inkling emerged and stalked toward Henry, axe in hand, “ _I trusted you. I gave you everything! And you left me to rot. Why?_ _ **Why?!**_ ”

The mad musician threw himself forward and swung wildly, his motions spasmodic and unbalanced. Henry used this to his advantage, able to skip out of range while also knocking Sammy back with the pipe. “Sammy!” Henry called.

The inkling merely growled at him and continued his assault. Henry kept yelling at him, “Sammy! What are you doing?”

“ _I’m going to cut that smile clean off your face!”_ Sammy screeched.

Henry dodged another axe swing, “I’m not-… smiling? Sammy, what’s going on with you?”

“ _Come here and put your face in my axe!_ ”

“No thanks,” Henry commented. “Sammy, please, I don’t want to fight you!”

“ _Stop saying his name, you_ _ **heretic**_ _ **!**_ ”

The strange demand made Henry pause, almost not dodging out of the way in time. He really didn’t want to fight Sammy, but Henry was worried he might not have an option. He lifted his pipe and set his gaze, “All right old friend, guess I’ll have to resort to the old-fashioned way of getting you to see straight.”

Henry dodged the axe, then twisted around to get behind Sammy. Henry’s pipe clocked the inkling upside the head with a solid clank.

The blow knocked the mask to the floor. Sammy yelped and lurched forward, his hands instantly flying to his face. “ _Argh! No! Don’t look at me!_ ” he snapped, staggering away from Henry, “S-stay away.”

The sudden, fearful shift in the madman’s voice made Henry’s brow rise. There had to be something he could do to help, now that Sammy had taken himself out of the fight. Henry looked at the pipe in his hand, then the axe in Sammy’s. Carefully, Henry set the pipe on the ground. Sammy hadn’t moved from where he stood, his hands still to his face. Henry gingerly stepped up to the inkling, then, with a swift motion, twisted the axe out of Sammy’s hand and tossed it away.

Sammy seized Henry by the throat and lifted him off the ground. “ _AHA!_ ” he crowed, “ _You lied to me! You said I’d be free! We’ll I’m going to free_ you _now,_ ” he threw Henry to the ground, then planted his knee into Henry’s stomach. “ _Free your_ _life from your body_ _!”_ Sammy cinched his hands around Henry’s throat and began to squeeze. “ _ **Sheep, sheep, sheep, it’s time for sleep**_ _._ ”

Henry writhed and twisted and clawed at the inky wrists, but nothing was loosing the merciless vice crushing his windpipe. His mouth opened to try and plead for his life, though all that sounded was a rasping croak.

Sammy laughed, “ _Ahh, is our sheep wishing for one last bleat before its_ _ **slaughter**_?” His grip slacked just enough to let Henry wheeze the only words he could summon.

“Sam-my… Law-rence…”

Sammy froze. His grip remained and Henry began to lose his hold on the world. Then, just when Henry thought he couldn’t stay awake, Sammy let go. The world snapped back into place as Henry dragged air into his lungs. The rush made his throat lock up, sending him into a coughing fit. Henry crawled to his hands and knees, still panting for air as the floor swam beneath him.

“Sammy Lawrence?” Henry heard the inkling say, “That’s my-… _no, that name means nothing to me._ ”

Henry lifted his head to the featureless black one tilted above him. “It’s _your_ name, Sammy,” he rasped.

“ _And how could you possibly know what_ _that_ _name is?_ ” Sammy spat, snatching Henry by the wrist and throwing him to his feet against a wall. The inkling planted his forearm across Henry’s collarbones and got far too close to Henry’s face; so close, Henry could smell the vile fumes of the inky body. “ _I am the Prophet of our lord, the Ink Demon,_ ” Sammy hissed, “ _Who are you, heretic, who are so desperate to survive, that you call on the name of a dead man to be your savior?_ ”

Henry regarded the blank face, wondering if it could truly be his old friend underneath, or if it was just an inky, dark abyss with Sammy’s voice. His silence prompted Sammy to impel his arm harder against Henry’s neck, “ _Answer your Prophet, heretic!_ ”

Henry gagged against the pain spiking through his throat. He pulled at Sammy’s arm to lessen the pressure, then said as clearly as he could manage, “Sammy, it’s me. It’s Henry.”

Once again, Sammy froze.

“I-I’m… Henry Stein.”

As soon as Henry said his full name, Sammy instantly let go and violently convulsed, tearing at his head while screaming, “ _No, NO,_ _ **NO!!! THAT NAME IS FORBIDDEN!!! STAY IN YOUR PLACE, YOU VILE IMPERFECTION!!!**_ ”

Henry sank against the wall, rubbing his sore throat and watching Sammy with concern. He reached toward the inkling, “Sammy? What-”

“ _No!_ Henry, don’t, I’m not-!” Sammy tripped over a stone, then scrambled to his feet with another scream and took off, melting into the darkness he’d appeared from.

Henry tried to follow, but the inkling had vanished.

Allison’s voice called for him from the other end of the shantytown.


	4. Remembrance

Henry dragged himself out of yet another ink pond. He’d fallen, again, and lost his axe in the ink.

“Henry?” called Allison from somewhere above him.

“I’m okay!” Henry called back, testing a few steps onto the shore. “Leg hurts but I’ll be fine.”

Allison groaned anxiously, “Okay, just be careful! You don’t know what you’ll find down there!”

Henry smiled at her motherly concern. In some ways, she reminded him of-…. Henry shook his head. Focus. Press on. Find whatever “it” is that’s “in the vault.” Henry thought whoever left the messages could have been a bit more specific.

The locked door to the film vault connected to something in the Administration offices. Henry grumbled at the puzzle nature of the studio and limped his way down the halls.

It was far too quiet. Even the fading ink puddles were still and silent. Inky footprints trailed down the hall, only diverted a pace or two by the puddles. An axe cut split through the wall. Now on edge, Henry followed the footprints through smashed-open doors and past axe-marred walls. He froze when he heard a resounding crash followed by a layered scream of outrage.

Henry heard a warped, but familiar voice yelling at someone, though the words didn’t make sense, just jumbled syllables. He peeked around a corner and found where the footprints ended: Joey Drew’s office. Henry slipped to the wall and tiptoed toward the smashed and ink-splattered door. He paused at the edge, not hearing anything within but dripping ink and labored breathing.

Balancing his weight on his good leg lest he need to run, Henry peered into the room.

His jaw dropped.

Nothing in the office was intact. The desk and chairs were hacked to splinters, the cabinets smashed beyond recognition, objects were crushed underfoot, posters torn down, shredded, and soaked through with ink. Broken pipes gurgled and spewed thick ink onto the walls and ceiling. The massive Studio sign on the back wall had been rent apart bolt by bolt, the giant reels thoroughly shattered with the middle one somehow having been driven halfway through the wall.

In the midst of it all stood Sammy. Both fists gripped stained axes. His shoulders rose and fell with every heavy breath, and ink ran like sweat down his arms. One foot was planted on a sign with Joey’s name. “This…” the inkling declared, “ _this is where you belong._ Under the heel of the slave you left to die.”

Deciding now was probably not a good time to try and talk some sense into Sammy, Henry shifted to turn and leave. Unfortunately, his hand caught on a loose shard of wood and sent it clattering. Henry saw Sammy turn, felt wind past his face, then heard an axe bury itself in the wall behind him. Henry snapped out of his shock once Sammy seized the front of his shirt and dragged him into the room.

“ _I thought if our lord killed you himself, he would free us,_ ” Sammy snarled, “ _But I now see what truly must be done._ ” He threw Henry down face-first and lifted the axe over his head, “ _ **I must kill you myself and**_ _ **plunge**_ _ **your soul into the abyss of the Machine! Then our lord will arise and cleanse this world of its unbelievers!**_ ”

Henry twisted and lifted his hands to catch the downward swing of the axe. He gasped with the effort to keep the blade from piercing his body. “Sammy, please! Wake up! You said my name, I know you remember me! You have to remember yourself!”

Sammy yanked the axe away and growled, the sound harsh and inhuman. His body swayed and his head pitched back and forth as he fought within himself. Henry took the chance to regain his feet, all the while holding out a placating hand. “Sammy, it’s okay. Whatever is happening, I won’t leave you to fight it alone.”

Sammy’s free hand tore at his face, “ _ **You! You’re the one with the forbidden name!**_ **You already left once,** _ **he left**_ _ **us**_ _ **to die!**_ **I don’t want it to happen again!** ”

A twinge of guilt plucked through Henry’s chest. “I know I left, and I know how Joey thought I betrayed him-”

“ _ **BETRAYAL! TREACHERY AND BETRAYAL!**_ ” Sammy lurched forward with the axe, then abruptly stopped. “ **N-NO! You never-… H-H-…** _ **The name is forbidden, get-… get back. Stay where you are.**_ ”

Henry began to figure that two minds were fighting for one body. “Fight back, Sammy! Whatever’s controlling you has no right to!”

“ _ **SILENCE, SHEEP!**_ ” the Prophet roared.

Henry ignored it, “Sammy Lawrence, I know you can hear me, and I know you want freedom!”

The Prophet lunged and forced Henry to jump out of the way, “ _No, no,_ _ **NO! Stop helping him! Don’t give him hope!**_ ”

Henry smiled, now knowing exactly what to do. He stood tall and faced his old friend. “Sammy. You have hope. You have hope to break this cycle of death, to break free, to see the sky again.”

The inkling paused. “ _The…_ sky?”

“Yeah! You love stargazing, remember?”

Sammy moaned and panted, his hands shaking on the axe. “ _I don’t_ … stars… I like… stars?” He then snarled and grabbed Henry, throwing him toward the door, “ _Just leave! Leave me be! I don’t need you!_ ”

“The warping tone in your voice says otherwise.” Henry stood up again, facing Sammy with his back to the door. “I left once without explanation or proper goodbye, without truly warning you about Joey. But I’m not doing that again.” Henry held his hand out to Sammy, “The door’s open, my friend. And I’m not leaving without bringing you through it.”

The Prophet snarled, “ _I could cut you down and walk over your corpse out that door._ ”

“That’s not my point and you know it.”

The Prophet’s grip readjusted on the axe. “ _You’re willing to stand there and let me kill you when you could easily walk out of here with your life?_ ”

Henry thought about that. Yes, he could leave with his life, but he’d be going back on his word. And that… that might just break Sammy for good. Henry lifted his chin, “I am. Because I believe Sammy has the strength to defeat whatever you are and take control of himself again.”

“ _YOU’RE WRONG!_ ” the Prophet shrieked, lifting the axe, “ _HE IS GONE!_ _PURGED!_ _NOTHING REMAINS!_ ”

“I’m not leaving without him,” Henry declared.

“ _ **THEN DIE, HERETIC!!!**_ ” The Prophet charged with the axe aimed at Henry’s chest. Henry shut his eyes-

“ **Now, now, we can’t be having that. Still, destroying the Prophet is quite an… intriguing prospect. In any case, he has become useless to me.**

**Very well, Samuel. I shall allow this. After all, we need to keep things interesting, don’t we? Yes, we do.**

_The world stuttered._

“ _ **THEN DIE, HERETIC!!!**_ ” The Prophet charged with the axe aimed at Henry’s chest. Henry shut his eyes and flinched, but the blow never came. He opened his eyes to see the blade a hair’s breadth from his chest. Henry glanced up to the blank head, “Sammy?”

The inky body trembled, “I-… oh, stars.” Sammy dropped the axe and fell to his knees, weeping.

Henry knelt down and laid a hand on Sammy's shoulder, "Sammy? Sammy, talk to me. It's okay now, you-"

"No! It's not okay! Look at me, Henry!" Sammy cried, "I'm a monster! The freakish product of a twisted mind. I let Joey make me his slave. I let the Prophet take my mind. I killed for their whims, I almost killed you! I-I’ve been trapped in this… this shell, I-… I can't remember the last time I felt happy or safe, I-” his voice began to break, “I just… I…. want…"

"Want what?" Henry gently prompted.

Sammy's head drooped as a whimper escaped his throat. "I just…. I want to go home."

Henry shifted to sit cross-legged on the floor. Sammy didn't move from his position, sitting heavily on his knees, his hands curled on the floor and head hung low.

"Y-you don't know…. what it's like," Sammy shuddered, "You don't know what it's like to be like this. It's in my head. It's all a curse. You don't know-…."

Henry sighed sadly. "You're right. I don't know. But you can tell me. You don't have to bear this alone anymore."

Sammy relaxed, sitting back on his heels. "N-no. Henry. You don't want…. I don't want to burden you with-"

"You won't be doing that, Sammy," Henry asserted. Sammy’s flinch made him lower his voice, "It's what friends are for."

"And…. we're friends."

It wasn't stated as a question, but Henry answered anyway. "Yes. We are. A bit of ink won't change that."

Sammy nodded slowly, but still let many seconds of silence pass before explaining.

"I-imagine your body imprisoned, locked away to never escape. Your senses are blacked out and replaced with a cold kind of awareness. You see nothing but the ink and feel nothing but its chill. As you dare to think of hope, it’s ripped away from you."

Sammy sighed and took a few breaths before continuing, his voice small and exhausted. "I'm tired of being locked away. I'm tired of being trapped. I'm sick of what I've become. It's like I'm stuck in a loop, a trance I can't snap out of. Every time I find light, the ink blots it out again. I only cared about that demon and its false hope of salvation. I killed-" his voice hitched. "I shouldn't have trusted Joey. I should have realized something was happening. I should have known. I should have known. I-!"

Sammy found himself in a hug. "W-…what are you doing, Henry?"

"I'm hugging my friend, you idiot."

"Heh. Does…. that make me the friend or the idiot?"

"C'mon, Sammy. You know you've always been both.”

Sammy chuckled. He returned the hug and began to laugh. Finally, after so long, he was himself again! The strings had been cut, the door blown open; he was no longer a slave. He buried his face into Henry’s shoulder and repeated his thanks over and over. Years of pain and detachment and fighting for his sanity, finally over.

Henry felt Sammy shudder. “Hey, you’re not crying, are you?”

“N-no. … Yes. … Are you?”

“Maybe.” He definitely was. Henry couldn’t explain it, but he had this overwhelming feeling that something _changed_. Though, he couldn’t explain what. Or how. Or why it was such a big deal.

Sammy finally pulled away from Henry, chuckling weakly and rubbing where his eyes ought to be.

“You good for now?” Henry asked.

Sammy nodded and stood, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. I feel… awake. Like escaping a bad dream.”

Henry smiled, “It’s good to have you back.”

“Heh. So, uh, what now?”

“Ah!” Henry beckoned Sammy toward the door, “We need to get into the film vault. Supposedly there’s something in there that will defeat the Ink Demon.”

With the duo’s combined efforts, they gathered the pipes quickly and unlocked the door. They hesitated upon seeing the state of the vault itself.

“I have faith in vault doors,” Sammy commented, “and I’m pretty sure none of them just fall off their hinge.”

Henry carefully stepped inside, avoiding the congealing ink. “The Demon’s been here. It might know what we’re after. Help me look around.”

Sammy shrugged and started flipping open boxes, occasionally tossing around reels or radios. “What exactly is it we’re looking for?”

“Some special reel, I guess.”

“You-! You _guess_?” Sammy turned sharply, “You mean you came all this way with no plan?”

Henry shrugged, “Well the hidden messages said ‘it’ was ‘in the vault’! Never actually said what ‘it’ was!”

“Ughh…” Sammy clapped a hand to his face, “Stein, it is a marvel to me you haven’t died yet.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” snarked Henry. He flipped open another box, one full of fresh ink. “Hey.”

“Find it?”

“I think I found the box it was in.”

Sammy moved toward Henry, “So the Demon alr- _AHH!!!_ ”

Sammy’s scream of pain made Henry swing around. Sammy was bent over, one hand limp, the other reaching for the dagger embedded in his shoulder. Beyond him, Allison and Tom came running, weapons poised for the kill. Henry rushed to put himself between them and Sammy and held his arms out. “ _Stop!_ ”

Allison stopped, but Tom shouldered past Henry and pounced on Sammy. The ferocious wolf toon seized Sammy’s throat with one hand, using the other to tear out the dagger and rear back to plunge it into Sammy’s heart. Henry grabbed Tom’s raised arm, “Tom, _stop_! He’s on our side!”

Tom snarled and elbowed Henry in the chest, sending the man sprawling.

The few extra seconds allowed Sammy to punch Tom across the jaw, buying time for Henry to again grab Tom’s arm. “Tom! Let him go!”

The wolf bared his teeth and threatened to bite Henry. Henry’s eyes sparked, “I said-” his grip tightened and something boiled under his fingertips, “- _let him go!_ ” Henry threw Tom bodily to the floor. The Boris yelped and clutched at his arm, staring wide-eyed at the fading gold burns on his skin.

Allison called Tom’s name and crouched at his side. She then turned to Henry, “What are you doing? We were trying to save you from him!”

Henry’s hands and jaw remained tense, “And I was trying to tell _you_ that he’s not a threat! Whatever was controlling him is gone now, and he wants to help.”

Allison and Tom watched warily as Henry helped Sammy to his feet.

“You okay?” Henry asked Sammy.

“I’ll be fine. Ink seals up.”

Henry then turned to Tom and offered a hand, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Tom icily glanced between Henry and Sammy, then huffed a sigh through his nose and took Henry’s hand.

“Right then,” Henry started, “Now that we’re past trying to kill each other, it looks like the Demon has what we were after. Also-” he pointed at Allison, “-how did you get down here?”

The angel summoned a smirk and cocked hip, “It pays to carry a rope. You should try it. Far fewer twisted ankles.”

Sammy rolled what he had of eyes. Tom growled at him. The inkling stepped farther behind Henry while Henry kept talking, “Anyway, if the Demon has what we need, then I need to go after it.”

All three ink people straightened. “You want to go to his _lair_?” Allison asked.

“Have you got ink in your head?” exclaimed Sammy, “Henry, that is suicide!”

“It’s the only place the trail leads,” Henry countered.

Allison nodded, “Well, it’s probably close by.”

Sammy stammered, “Wait, hold up. You’re seriously okay with this?”

“Does it look like we can stop him?” Allison asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sammy inhaled, then stopped. His lifted his hand and set it into a fist while he looked between Henry and Allison. “I-… you-…” His hand dropped with a huff, “Fine. But you’re not getting rid of us to face that thing alone.”

Henry chuckled, “Fair.”

"Anyway," Allison continued, "We need to get through that door. But it won't be easy to open. I'll need three gears, a crowbar-"

"No." Henry swiped the air with his hands, "No more fetch quests, no more playing errand boy. I've had enough of that from your evil twin." 

"Well, I'm not sure how else to-"

Tom marched right up to the door and smashed it open.

"... Aaand that's why he's the mechanic," muttered Sammy.

"Show off," Allison chuckled, patting Tom's shoulder as she slipped through the door. Sammy was glared and growled at as he passed. Henry took the lead and the quartet moved through the hallway before Henry suddenly stopped.

"Something wrong?" Allison asked.

"This... this looks like where I started."

Sammy's head tilted, "Meaning?"

"This hallway. That desk there, it was all upstairs where I first came into the studio. Where the machine was. Except... this is all laid out backwards."

"Deja-vu aside," Sammy interrupted, "Do you know where we're going?"

"Well..." Henry glanced around, noting a few things and trying to remember what he'd seen on the first floor. He caught his fist in his hand, "I bet his lair is where the Machine was on the first floor. We just gotta go there."

"If you say so," shrugged Sammy.

"I don't have any other ideas," Allison concurred.

Tom just gave a little huff and they started off.

The halls stretched to nowhere and back. Turns took them in circles. They doubled back more often then not. This might have been the first floor laid out backwards, but it was starting to feel like a hedge maze.

After thirty minutes of not really getting anywhere, Henry stopped. "We're lost," he declared.

Sammy facepalmed.

Henry grumbled and leaned against a wall, pressing his palms into his eyes. Allison sighed. "Henry? When was the last time you slept?"

Henry looked up, a wave of realization suddenly washing over him. How long _had_ it been? Is that why he felt so bad? He slept in Allison and Tom's safehouse before they bailed on him... but... that had to have only been a few hours ago, right? Or, was it longer? There was the encounter with Sammy, that fall into the lower levels, the fight in the office.. "'M fine. We can keep going."

His body disagreed. As soon as he stepped away from the wall, the room lurched and his knees buckled. Cold arms caught under his chest and saved him from hitting the floor.

"Henry!" Sammy gasped, "Henry, you're shaking."

Henry just groaned pitifully.

"All right, no more arguments." Sammy scooped up Henry bridal style, "We're finding a nook and you're taking a nap."

Henry mumbled something about tanks and meds. Sammy found a secluded corner with a couple crates, Allison offered a few folded rags for a pillow. Tom waited until the two had situated Henry then quietly walked out. Allison said she and him would keep watch outside. Sammy just nodded and sat down, leaning against the crate at Henry's feet.

"Sammy?"

The ink man started a bit, "Uh, yes?"

"I'm sorry." Henry's voice sounded tired and hurt.

Sammy chuckled awkwardly, "F-for what?"

"Everything. The Machine, what happened to you, to this place. The demon was my creation. I never would have thought-"

"Shut up."

"What-"

"I said shut up." Sammy kept his voice low but firm, "This isn't on you, Henry. Yes the demon was your creation, but be honest, did you have a say in what Joey did with him? No. As soon as Bendy left your desk, Joey carried him off and shackled him in some dark corner to do his bidding. I spent most of my time in the music studio, but I could see from there that neither you nor Bendy were happy. The only one who was ever satisfied was Joey." 

The ink man drew his knees up and dangled his arm over one leg. "Joey... _changed_ after you left. It was subtle things at first, maybe not telling us details that led to minor annoyances, but then everything seemed to happen at once. The Machine, the theme park, the demon, the... rituals."

Henry muttered a swear.

"Yeah, it really was. But not once did anyone say it was on you."

Sammy sighed and thumped his head against the crate, "Honestly, it was probably a good thing you left. You missed all the..." he wiggled his fingers in the air, "evil... stuff. And now you're back in this crooked empire to save what little sanity remains. I tell ya', if you pull this off, I... er, are you even listening to me? ... Oh. Heh, old man passed right out."

Sammy shifted to sit cross-legged and settled his axe over his knees. "Sleep well, old friend," he muttered, "We got a lot of ink to bleach."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes hello there, it's me, the Author fox. I have emerged from the void to retcon a few things that needed the retconning. Anyway hope it's not too confusing, and if you're wondering, yes we will find out what happened that caused the world to stutter. Eventually >:)   
> Okays back to the abyss from whence I came! *scampers*


	5. Ink Lair

Henry woke slowly, his brain not wanting to be pulled from the safe confines of unconsciousness. But, one glimpse of the sepia toned and ink-stained ceiling brought him to full, somewhat panicked awareness. He struggled to get his arms to cooperate and lift him up, immediately failing as a wave of nausea crashed through his skull. Something cold pressed against his chest as a voice sounded far away. Through the tunneling vision and the ringing in his ears, Henry made out a vague black shape above him. A few more moments, and he came around.

"Urg, Sammy?"

The ink man chuckled, "Heh, morning, old man. You feeling all right?"

"Like I've been hit by a train. How long have I been out?"

"Uh, a while," Sammy responded, helping Henry sit up and lean against the wall. "I'm honestly not sure. You lose all sense of time down here."

"Oh. Great."

Sammy cracked open a can of soup he'd found and offered. Henry took and quickly devoured. "Where's Allison and Tom?"

"Eh, wandering. Allison said she found the Machine room. It leads to another hall that no one's gone down yet. Tom is still glaring at me whenever he can."

Henry chuckled, "I know the feeling. You'll win him over. Eventually."

"Uh huh. Can you 'eventually' stand?" Sammy asked, "Or do you still need a bit?"

"I need _water_ , mostly."

Sammy inhaled, "Can't help ya there. All we have is ink."

"I know, I know." Henry gently rubbed his temples, his head slowly but surely clearing. He had to keep going. Something in his gut said things would be different. What 'things' were and how they would be different, he didn't know. But he had to push on. To free them.

He dragged his hands down his face and looked up at Sammy, who offered a hand. Henry took it, stood somewhat shakily, and the two of them regrouped with Allison and Tom.

After a quick debrief, Henry led the way again. The Machine room was different than the one on the first floor, being a smallish room with chains on the ceiling and a large ink square where the Machine could feasibly be. They went through the door on the opposite side of the room. Despite being somewhat unnerved by the word "DEATH" written in large, unfriendly letters on the wall, the four kept going before an ink web blossomed across the floor and walls.

"Quiet!" Allison hissed, "Don't make any noise."

Henry tiptoed forward toward the large double window. The ink web thickened and that persistent heartbeat-like drone thudded in his head.

Slowly, the demon limped down the hall on the other side of the glass. Ink flowed down what was visible of that twisted smile, and the gloved hand twitched with every step. Out of his peripheral vision, Henry saw Sammy clamp one hand over his heart, the other hand over his mouth, and staggered back against the wall, shivering.

Henry tensed, but the demon didn't seem to notice. No one moved or dared to breathe until it was out of sight and the ink web disappeared. Henry was at Sammy's side in an instant. "Sammy? Sammy, what's going on?"

The ink man's knees buckled and his hands shook as his breathing came in sharp gasps. "Th-the demon. It sees. It sees everything. It's always moving. Always listening. Always smiling. Always smiling. Always smiling-" he lurched up and gripped Henry's arms, "it's in my head, always smiling-"

"What's wrong with him?" Allison asked, her brow furrowed.

"I-I don't know. Some kind of PTSD? The demon did kill him at one point."

Allison sighed anxiously, "Well, can you snap him out of it?"

Henry returned Sammy's hold on his arms. "Sammy! Sammy, wake up! He's not going to hurt you again, all right? You're free from him."

Sammy's breathing slowed a bit, "F-free?"

"Yes. Free. You, Sammy Lawrence, are your own man. You don't listen to that demon anymore and you never will again."

It seemed to work. Sammy let go of Henry in favor of rubbing his head. A minute passed, and Henry helped him to his feet. A few mumbled apologies and encouragements later, they continued.

Around one corner, then another, then past another large-print 'DEATH' on the wall, the hallway opened up into a huge cavern. At its center was a massive structure that vaguely resembled the Ink Machine itself. A gaping pipe like a spout bent over the open doorway. The "body" of the Machine-like structure stretched wide and high and plunged far back into the wall of rock it was embedded in. A pitch-black ink moat surrounded the whole thing.

"Wow!" breathed Allison, "I've never seen this before!" She approached the moat, glancing around, "I don't see any way around, ... nothing to build a raft with."

"We'll have to wade across," said Henry, joining her at the bank.

"We can't," Allison said. "We're not like you Henry. If we go in there, well-"

As if to demonstrate, Sammy stuck his hand in the moat. After only a few seconds, ink slithered up his arm. He yelped and pulled back, shaking the invading substance off his arm.

"... a drop of water in the ocean is rarely seen again."

Henry sighed. "I guess it's all up to me... and I don't even know what I'm doing here." He gazed across the moat, but focused on nothing, "I don't even know why this is all happening to me."

Allison laid a hand on his arm, "You're here for a reason, Henry. There's always a reason! Even when you can't understand it. It's time... set us fr-"

"Hold it!" Sammy pushed his way between them, "That's it? 'Oh no, no obvious solution so we're leaving our potential savior high and dry'? Seriously? No." He turned to Henry, "I said you're not getting rid of us to face that thing alone and I meant it." He stared down Allison and Tom, both of whom were taken aback by his sudden outburst. "We're sticking together. Henry stuck with us even after all... _this_ and I am _not_ leaving my friend now."

Everyone was staring at Sammy with a general '...woah' look. Henry coughed to break the silence. "Okay, well, what do we do?"

"Well, for one," Sammy swept his arm out at the moat, "there are barrels and crates we can empty. And," his arm moved toward Henry, "someone who won't get swallowed by the ink."

Henry raised an eyebrow, "Guess I'm playing 'fetch,' again."

Sammy's arm dropped. "What _did_ that other Alice make you do, anyway?"

"Oh, y'know," Henry waded into the ink, grimacing at the cold, thick stuff, "eugh, the usual. Collecting and/or fighting for gears and sparkplugs, using oversized syringes to pop swollen Searchers, collecting hearts in shin-deep ink while being hunted by the husk of Norman Polk-"

"Wait, what?"

"Oh yeah, he was a thing." Henry huffed and hauled a crate onto the shore, going back in for a barrel. "Ink body, speaker in his stomach, projector for a head, if-you're-caught-in-his-light-you-better-run-for-your-life, that kind of deal."

Sammy couldn't believe what he was hearing. "W-... y-... and you just _left_ him?"

Henry internally cringed, "Sammy, he wasn't like you. He was... I don't think Norman was still alive in that thing. Plus, at one point, the demon came in and... ripped off his head. I couldn't have helped if I wanted to."

Everyone fell silent.

Allison looked like she was going to be sick. "Ripped off his... ugh."

Henry rolled the barrel up and Sammy helped him out. "Henry, I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too."

A moment of silence passed, and the group started working on the wood containers.

Henry paused a moment and glanced at the axe in his hand. "Hey, Allison?"

"Hm?"

"Why did you react like that when I said how Bendy killed Norman?"

The angel stopped mid-swing. She lowered the axe and sighed. "The demon... hasn't always been like this."

Henry cocked his head, "Like what?"

"Like... I don't know. I mean, he's always been around and he's always looked like what you've seen. He wandered the halls and didn't like it when someone broke his cutouts. Sometimes he would round up Searchers or maybe a Boris and toss them into the Machine, but nothing so blatantly violent like ripping off heads. He was a silent, looming threat, like an annoyed supervisor, but he wasn't outright _hostile_. Then, somewhat recently, he turned more like... like..."

"Like _Joey_." Sammy spat the name like poison. "Don't ask about why the demon does things, Henry. It's a threat and the thing between us and our freedom." His axe came down a bit harder than necessary. "The sooner it's a lifeless stain on the ground, the better."

Henry dropped the subject. The four of them finished emptying the barrel and crate and strategically placed them in the moat. They were just large enough to provide stepping stones, but the final span was too far.

Henry stepped up to the entrance of the Machine. "I see a crate in there!" he said.

The others looked wary. "Are you sure?" Allison asked. "It's pretty far in. You're okay with that?"

"Relatively."

"Henry, please don't be stupid," said Sammy. "At this point we can't afford to be stupid."

Henry didn't respond, making his way down the long hallway. He crossed some kind of threshold and had just grabbed the crate when a massive door fell shut behind him with a teeth-rattling crash.

"... Nuts."

He'd left his axe with Sammy.

And after he'd been told not to be stupid.

...

Great.

He turned to the huge door on the other side of the room. Well, at least that one had a switch. He flipped it and the door ground open with a mighty groan.   
  
  
  
  
  


Oh.


	6. Facing the Beast

This... is not what he was expecting. An old high-backed chair sat in the middle of the circular room like some kind of throne. Ink piled up around its base and large gears made steps up to it. Several projectors were stuck into the ink and many more screens played clips of old Bendy cartoons.

A tape lay by the armrest. Henry clicked 'play'.

 _"It's simply awe-inspiring what one can accomplish with their own hands."_ Joey's voice leaked through the speaker and echoed around the room. Henry's lip curled at the sound of it. _"A lump of clay can turn to meaning... If you strangle it with enough enthusiasm!_

_"Look what we've built. We created life itself, Henry! Not just on the silver screen, but in the hearts of those we entertained with our fancy moving pictures._

_"But... when the tickets stopped selling... when the next big thing came along... only monsters remained... shadows of the past. But you can save them, Henry! You can peel it all away!_

_"You see, there's only one thing Bendy has never known. He was there for his beginning..."_

Henry picked up the reel sitting on the chair.

_"... but he's never seen-"_

"The End," said Henry with the tape.

**"But you didn't like it."**

Henry whirled around to find the ink demon standing at the entrance. The demon's head tilted. **"You never liked how it ended."**

Henry's mind blanked.

 **"Face it, Henry. You were always protective of the little twerp."** The demon started pacing around the edge of the room. **"When I didn't put your name in the credits, you came storming into my office and made demands."**

Henry's brain slowly came back online. His gaze followed the pacing demon as he started to make connections.

**"You,** **_Henry_ ** **. Making demands to** **_me_ ** **."**

"You're not Bendy."

 ** _"NO!"_** the demon, or whatever it was, roared. It composed itself and straightened again, **"Not exactly, anyway. He's definitely here, but not very talkative, or really** ** _anything,_** **at the moment."**

"What have you done, Joey?" Henry demanded, acknowledging the demon's identity.

Joey laughed. It was a cold, cruel, awful sound that echoed through the room and made Henry want to cover his ears. **"I've done it, Henry!"** he threw his hands out wide, continuing to pace, **"I unlocked the secret to death itself! Humanity and its illusion of life, it's utterly laughable now! We were never supposed to stay in those weak, faulty prisons of flesh! This, Henry, this is the** ** _truth_** **of living."**

"The people whose lives you've ruined might disagree."

Joey waved him off. **"Necessary sacrifices. All to the goal of my dream-"**

"That's your problem, Joey!" Henry snapped and stabbed his finger towards the ink monster, "It was always _your_ dream, _your_ vision, _your, your, your!_ You pocketed _thousands_ of people, pulled their strings, and when they started pulling back, you _hung_ them! You claim to have vision but you don't see the pile of _bodies_ you leave. You say you have dreams but you've turned _everything_ around you into a _nightmare_!"

**"... And?"**

Something cracked in Henry's mind. "You don't even _care?!"_ he spluttered.

Joey stopped at the front of the throne. His head tilted.

Fury built. Henry's empty fist clenched and his pulse rose. "There are people," he began, his voice low, " _people_ outside that I used to know. My _friend_ is outside and he looks like something out of a horror film. Hundreds, possibly thousands of _people_ have become mindless, shapeless _husks_ of who they were. Because of _you_. Because of _your_ acts. _Your_ visions. 'Illusion of living', you don't _care_ about the living. You're a selfish, lying, back-stabbing _sadist_ who has torn down _everything_ you tried to raise! Sammy said I was fortunate to have left when I did. At first I didn't believe him, thinking if I'd stayed or come back, maybe I could have saved something. But frankly, seeing what has become of this place, of _you_ , I'm starting to believe there is _nothing_ about you _worth_ saving."

 **"What will you do then? Kill me? You've tried, Henry."** Joey's grin stretched and he stalked toward the human, **"Tried and tried and** ** _tried_** **. You plug in that reel, the light whites it out, and we wake up to have our fun all over again."**

Now Joey was only a step or so away from Henry's perch on the throne's gear steps. Henry hugged the reel a little tighter and his gaze flicked toward the projector. "What are you talking about?"

**"Four-hundred and thirteen."**

"What?"

 **"We've both kept track. You** ** _love_** **keeping track, only to forget as soon as you take the plunge. Heheheh, I wonder though, of all the times nothing has changed, what happened this time? What variable switched? What will happen now?"** Joey closed the gap, forcing Henry against the worn leather of the chair. **"How about we start with the usual and go from there?"**

A crack, a snap, the sound of breaking bone, and Joey began to change. His arms stretched and his face swelled. Jagged teeth protruded from a snout that dripped ink and acid.

Henry snapped out of his dumbstruck horror and made a lunge for the projector.

No good.

A huge, three-fingered claw clamped painfully around his torso and lifted him up. Henry managed to hang on to the reel and face the beast that held him. Joey roared loud enough to make Henry's ears ring, then hurled the human through a weak spot in the wall.

Pain lanced through Henry's body as he hit the ground and a groan caught sharply in his throat. A stabbing, burning pain in his side made him aware of a potentially broken rib. Or two. Regardless, Henry forced himself to his feet and tried to get eyes on that beast.

A subsonic growl behind him, and the beast leaped over his head to vanish through the adjacent wall.

So, Joey was fast and could pop out of any surface.

Henry had broken ribs, possibly yet another concussion, only one hand to work with since the other was keeping a death-grip on the End reel, and a sore leg which had been abused again.

And he was unarmed.

Wonderful odds.

 _Push on!_ Henry's brain demanded. The man set his jaw and forced his limbs to move. He limped as fast as he could manage down the maze of halls.

There were a myriad of things crowding for attention in Henry's mind. So many questions. How long had Joey been the demon? What was this talk of variables and cycles? Did something of Bendy really exist in that monster? Could he be saved? How would he defeat Joey? How could he get the others out of here? And most importantly...

... Why were these switches already pulled?

Henry dodged a charging Joey and ducked around another corner. A door. Closed. He turned to search for more switches when cold hands wrapped around his chest and muffled him. "Henry!"

Sammy?

It was indeed the musician, now dragging Henry along into a low corner where Allison and Tom were crouched.

"Guys! Oh, I'm so glad to see you!"

Tom nodded.

"Same here, Henry," said Allison.

"Wait," Henry's brow furrowed, "how'd you get in here?"

"Like I said," Allison smirked, "it pays to carry a rope."

"We were trying to get to the room you were in," said Sammy, "but ended up in here instead. We were finding the switches for the door when there's this crash and roar and now that thing is running around." He turned to Henry and his expression could have been called accusatory. "Care to explain?"

Henry gave them an abridged version. "That's not actually Bendy. It's Joey. No, I don't know how. He's morphed into this... beast form that's trying to kill me. I need to get back to the throne room and plug this reel in."

"Then that's what we'll do," Allison said with a thumbs-up.

"Actually," Sammy held her back, "That's what me and Tom will do. Allison, you stay with Henry and take a look at his wounds. We'll be back."

Henry grabbed Sammy's wrist. "Wait."

"What?"

"You know all those ink rituals, right?"

"Henry, that's not really-"

"Do you or don't you?"

"I do, yes! Why?"

Henry pulled him back down and lowered his voice. "About three blocks down is where the throne room is. I need you to get in there and draw a circle with containment symbols. The beast is after me and this reel so I'll use that to buy you some time. I'll lure it your way and you've got to hold it in while I plug this thing in, understand?"

It took a few seconds for the rapid directions to fully click, but Sammy nodded and took off, leaving the remainder of the switches to Tom.

Allison turned to Henry, "Where does it hurt?"

She had just finished wrapping his ribs when the huge door creaked open. Tom came into view, waving at the others to follow.

The next room had a grated floor and four huge pipes. Tom immediately found the valve and gave it a spin, releasing ink to gurgle and surge into the pipes.

A growl, heavy footsteps, and the beast materialized in the room. Its eyeless head swung toward Henry, who barely had time to duck behind a pipe before the beast ran straight through it, cracking it open and spraying ink everywhere.

Allison and Tom backed up, warded off by the ink. Guess this was up to Henry.

Making use of the beast's apparently diminished mental capacity, the rest of the pipes were shattered and the exit door slid open.

The three sprinted out and Henry spotted Sammy at the end of the hall, his fingers to the floor. "Sammy!" he yelled, "Now or never!"

"That's a 'now'!" Sammy called back.

With the beast on their heels, Allison and Tom dove to the side while Henry leaped over the circle. The beast ran through the middle of it and slammed full-force against the seal's invisible barrier.

Both shuddered, but held up.

Henry shoved the reel into place and the projectors flickered to life. 'The End' showed on the screens and the human and ink beings waited for the demon to vanish.

The demon growled and swayed, holding his head. He curled up, emitting a sort of subsonic purr. The sound became rhythmic. The mouth twitched upward. He was... laughing?

 **"Oh, Henry. You think I'd reset the cycle after** ** _this_** **? This is the first time something new has happened! That reel won't end it anymore. It** ** _never was_** **the end!"** Joey's head swung toward Sammy. **"Come now, faithful little Prophet, release your lord and he will reward you."**

Sammy didn't move. He only clenched his hands.

Joey huffed. **"Oh well. Worth a try."**

"Well, now what?" Allison asked. "We've got him trapped, what should we do with him?"

"I'm up for killing it," Sammy's voice was cold and furious. "That would set us free, right?"

 **"Oh, poor, disillusioned Prophet,"** taunted Joey, **"must I spell out everything? You can't kill me. Even if you could, you'd wake up having accomplished nothing."**

Sammy's shoulders hunched, "Stop calling me that! I'm never following you again! I should have-"

**"Oh, you should have done a lot of things, little Prophet."**

"I said STOP!"

Henry rushed to hold Sammy back from stepping in the circle. Tom helped, clamping his robot hand around the ink man's arm and not letting him move. Henry got in Sammy's line of sight, "Sammy, I need you to focus here. We can do something about him as long as he's in that circle. You know the rituals. Can we use one?"

**"If you're thinking about exorcising me or something, you might want to reconsider. I don't think Bendy would appreciate it."**

Now it was Henry's turn to snap at the beast. "You're. Not. Bendy."

**"Come now, Henry, you were never** **_that_ ** **stupid. Gullible and unbearably naive, yes, but not stupid. Think about it, Henry. I'm in his body. That has to mean something. Some kind of consciousness needed to control it before I got here."**

Henry's eyes narrowed. A staring match commenced, no one moving for some time. Henry stepped up to the circle's border. The beast's head tilted. Henry spoke without averting his focus. "Sammy."

"Yes?"

"What kind of symbols are in that circle?"

"Uh. It's a combination, actually."

"A combination of _what_?"

Sammy stammered a bit, put off by the ferocity in Henry's voice. "It-... there's exorcism and a mind link, as well as the rings to keep the seal in place."

"Explain the exorcism."

"Henry, where is this coming from?"

"Sammy," Henry stared at his friend, a pleading determination in his gaze.

Sammy sighed, "It... forces the soul out of the body."

"And the mind link?"

"It's just part of the containment. Though it could be used to link with the contained's mind." Sammy started, "Wait, Henry, you can't seriously be thinking about-"

"What if I did?" Henry interrupted. "He's not lying about Bendy still being in there. At least... something that could be called Bendy is. If I got him out or at least away from Bendy's consciousness, could you just get Joey out?"

"I..." Sammy lifted a hand to his chin, "it's... possible. But if he's not far enough away, Bendy could get caught up in it, leaving either consciousness in pieces. And if you aren't out of there, it could kill you as well."

Henry's fingers brushed the edge of the invisible barrier.

Joey sneered. **"Y-you can't seriously be thinking about trying this."**

Henry just smirked back, "What if I am? Does it make you nervous? Think we're on to something? If you're concerned, just reset the cycle."

**"Don't tempt me."**

"No, Joey. You won't. You're just as curious as I am. If we've really done this same song and dance for monotony eternal, then this is easily the most exciting thing you've seen."

Joey clashed against the barrier. **"You come in here and I'll tear you apart."**

Henry tilted his head around the beast, "Allison?"

The angel expertly sent one of her swords into Joey's upper back, making the beast rear up and expose his belly. Wasting no time, Henry lunged forward and planted his hands into Joey's chest.

An electric current seemed to jump through his legs, into his heart, and up to ignite at his hands.

Both froze. Henry's eyes sparked yellow and gold ink swirled around his hands.

Allison blinked. She glanced at Sammy, who looked ready to hit the floor. "Did it work?"

"Yes," said the musician, creeping forward toward the circle and stopping at its edge. "The rest of this depends on however Henry thinks he's going to give a signal, and timing that comes down to the millisecond."

Tom grunted a whine.

"Yeah, me too, pal," said Sammy. "Me too."


	7. In the Mind of the Beast

Was waking up accurate? It was more like becoming aware. Henry could tell wherever he was wasn't quite... physical. He glanced around. Not much to see. The floor was covered in about half an inch of ink. The open space was black and endless. Light existed without any source.

**"You're even crazier than I thought."**

Henry whirled around.

There stood Joey. Arms crossed, scowling, yet looking exactly the same as he did thirty years ago. **"Though, I'll admit, you were right,"** he suddenly appeared very close to Henry, **"I do want to see how this ends."**

Henry backed up, putting space between him and Joey. "Where's Bendy?" he demanded.

Joey just gestured to the space. **"Look around, boy. You'll find him. This is** ** _his_** **head, anyway. A manifestation of his consciousness will be around here somewhere."**

Henry marched forward, intending to grab Joey, but his hand phased through air.

Joey appeared behind him. **"Don't trust physical senses. This is the** ** _mind_** **."** He seized a fistfull of Henry's shirt and pulled him close, smiling evilly. **"By the time you figure out how this place works, I'll have torn your mind to shreds, leaving that old body of yours brain-dead!"**

Henry was dropped and he staggered back, trying to regain his footing. Joey caught his shoulder. **"Find the demon. See if I care. I've had my fill of physical games. Can't wait to experiment in the mind."**

By the time Henry turned around again, Joey was gone. Henry took several seconds to get his bearings. And take note of something.

Joey was right-handed, but he'd used his left both times he attacked. His right stayed in a fist and kept away from Henry.

So Joey was hiding something.

Okay, that was one thing known for certain. Anything else helpful? Something that could point to Bendy? Henry's gaze lowered to the ink under his feet. He crouched and dipped his finger in it. When he pulled his finger back up, the ink dripped off like water. That... never happened with normal ink. It wasn't this runny and didn't smell like... salt? Against his better judgement, he dripped some ink into his mouth and ended up promptly spitting it out. It was indeed salty, far from the normal, bitter, metallic taste.

Henry stood and brushed off his hands. Well, he now knew that the ink wasn't really ink. More like salty, black water. Didn't help to locate Bendy.

Henry sighed. Should he just pick a direction and start walking?

No. Bad idea.

He needed _something_ to give him a hint. Should he try shouting Bendy's name? Would that even be effective in his own head?

So he just stood. He focused.

Quiet his heart, slow his breathing. Just listen.

...

...

...

... _'_

... _'_

... _'_

There. It sounded like... dripping?

Henry turned toward it and listened again, carefully turning toward the sound's direction.

Then he ran.

It wasn't like normal running, though. He didn't _feel_ like he was running, just sort of willing his mind deeper into this abyss, personified by this extension of his own body.

Then he saw. A pinprick of light that grew larger as he approached. Its shape formed something Henry recognized, something he had longed to see.

A small, hunched over form, white highlights the only contrast against the stark background.

Bendy. The Dancing Demon.

Henry slid to a stop, knelt, and immediately lifted Bendy's chin, saying his name.

The demon just stared ahead. Pie-cut eyes open wide. Mouth a thin line. It was the fat black tears constantly rolling down his face and dripping down to the shallow sea that led Henry here.

So many emotions surged through Henry. Relief, concern, confusion.

All drowned by a righteous fury when he noticed the chains.

Manacles, shiny and black like obsidian, cinched around the demon's wrists, ankles, and torso. Chains trailed down to be lost in the sea of ink.

Henry fiddled with the restraints for a few moments, but soon learned there was no pulling them off. They'd have to be broken somehow. He again lifted the small toon's head and met Bendy's empty gaze. "Bendy. It's me, Henry."

No response.

"Bendy, please. You've got to remember. Henry Stein? I drew you."

The mouth twitched. Opened. "D-...rew."

Henry blinked. He hadn't expected Bendy to sound so... childlike. His voice was soft, high, and rasping, as if he hadn't used it in years. His eyes lowered, "D-...rew. All... Joey... Drew."

Henry started and grasped Bendy's shoulders, "No. No, not Joey. _Henry_. I'm here to help you, Bendy."

"Liar."

Henry's heart dropped. He let go of Bendy, "W-... what?"

"Liar."

"Bendy, I'm not lying. I am here to help you."

"Liar."

"Bendy-" Henry then stopped, thinking. This... might be harder than he thought. He remembered Sammy seemed to be in a sort of daze before he started remembering who he was. Maybe he just needed to get Bendy to remember as well.

But... he'd been away so long. He'd only seen a few cartoons with the little devil and was otherwise clueless to what Joey had done to him. Would Bendy even recognize him as his creator?

But he had to try _something._

Henry moved close to Bendy and gently pulled him into a hug. It was a little awkward with Bendy being so small and chained up, but the gesture was sincere. Henry held the toon close for a few seconds before softly murmuring to him, "Bendy. I'm here. Please wake up." He felt something in the core of his being give a little pulse.

It sent a shiver through Bendy's small form.

Bendy gave a little moan. "H...en...ry...?"

**"Fool."**

Crap.

Henry jumped to his feet, standing defensively over Bendy and looking every direction for sign of Joey.

**"I said 'find the devil,' not 'free the devil.' You never could take orders correctly."**

Henry clenched his teeth and growled. "Enough of your games, Joey!" he barked, "I'm ending this now and bringing Bendy with me!"

**"Is that so?"**

Henry kept searching, but Joey's voice sounded like it came from everywhere.

 **"All right then, little hero,** " Joey finally appeared several yards away, **"try."**

With a tilt of his head, Joey sent a wave of ink barreling toward Henry. Henry turned to shield Bendy, but the ink wrapped around Henry like some living liquid tentacle and hurled him away. Henry clambered to his feet and dodged the next few strikes.

Joey was now between him and Bendy. **"You know, Henry,"** Joey stood over Bendy, roughly grabbing one of his horns and forcing his head up. **"when a mind is tied down and has no choice but to hear what you say, even the strongest of wills start to listen. This little twerp-"** he threw Bendy's head back down, **"used to have hope. Oh boy, did he remember you, once upon a time. He even called for you,** ** _cried_** **for you when I finished that ritual."**

Henry kept quiet.

 **"But now you're here and he calls you a liar. Doesn't even know your name."** Joey sneered and raised his right hand, then end of an obsidian chain looped around it. **"I hate those cheesy villains who accidentally tell the hero their whole plan. But I'm gonna tell you how to beat me, Henry.** ** _Intentionally_** **. Just so I can watch you try and fail to bring your little devil darling home again and again** ** _and again_** **."**

"You're insane."

**"Men with true vision are often considered as such. Now listen close. I'm holding the chains, right? If I happen to let go, my mind won't get tangled up in the toon's and you can 'safely' separate us. All you have to do is make me let go long enough for you to get out, signal the Prophet, and let him do the ritual."**

"Anything else?"

 **"Yeah..."** Joey's lips curled in a smile far too wide for his face. **"Try to survive."**   
  


Allison paced in front of the throne, fingers impatiently drumming on her arm. "I don't like this. He's been in there too long."

"I have faith in the old man," said Sammy, who still stood at the edge of the circle. "He doesn't give up. He'll do what he needs to. He has to."

"Well, is there anything we can do?" Allison asked, "Anything in that circle that could help him?"

"These circles aren't exactly _interactive_ , Allison."

The angel grumbled. She wanted _something_ to break the tense silence, "Well..." her gaze drifted to Henry, "what's that gold ink around Henry's hands? Why are his eyes glowing yellow?"

Sammy tilted his head. "I'm not exactly sure. I think it has something to do with how his soul is reacting to Joey's. Or maybe it's reacting to Bendy? I don't know. I've never seen a mind link between a human and an inkling before. Maybe it's just a human thing. Or..."

"Or maybe it's a 'Henry' thing." The angel joined Sammy at the ring. "That man is something else. Whenever I'm around him my soul feels lighter. He's the one to set us free. I know it."

Sammy's head dipped. "I hope so," his hand rubbed his face, "Stars, I hope so."

"Sammy."

"Hm?"

"Henry tensed up. Something's happening."   
  


**"Ugh, at least make** ** _something_** **happen, I'm getting bored."** Joey threw Henry down for what might have been the hundredth time. **"Use your** ** _head_** **, boy! Your** ** _head!_** **"**

Henry staggered to his feet. Again. Joey had been mopping the floor with him, his control over the ink sea brutal and precise. And Henry had gotten no closer to Joey or Bendy.

He needed some space. Needed to learn this place. Fall back and then push forward with a strategy.

Using the trick of movement, Henry turned and retreated at a speed no human eye would have been able to detect. He willed his extension along without moving a muscle.

Wait.

He stopped.

'Use your head.'

Henry rolled his eyes and almost groaned at the obvious. He'd been relying on his physical strength. Or, trying to, at least. It wasn't doing him a lot of good. _Mental_ strength, however, strength of will, that might actually accomplish something.

He got an idea. A strategy.

He focused, drifting his awareness back to Joey. In an instant, he appeared.

 **"Oh!"** Joey actually sounded somewhat surprised. **"Well, you figured out the teleportation. Let's spice it up a bit, then, shall we?"**

Another wave. Henry dodged.

A strike from the back. Dodged.

Joey appeared above and rained down spikes. Henry motioned upward with a clawed hand, raising a wall of ink. Deflected.

Joey loudly cursed Henry's name.

Henry narrowed his eyes, his old soldier's instincts flooding in.

The two stared each other down, neither moving a muscle, both daring the other to make the first move.

Luckily, Joey's impulsiveness sent him diving in first. Henry's mind reacted for him. He brought his hands together and two warped, hand-shaped, ink waves moved with the motion. The two combatants clashed with a roar and a splash.

Next thing Joey knew, he was face-down in the ink, Henry holding him in a headlock and twisting the fingers of his right hand. He growled and shoved ink into Henry's face. It barely phased the veteran, who simply leaned lower into his grapple hold and continued twisting Joey's fingers.

Joey wriggled and writhed, but Henry's mental hold was much stronger than he thought. Well, maybe he shouldn't be so quick to underestimate in the future. For now, though, this position was uncomfortable and the twisting was starting to become painful.

Joey submerged his face into the ink and commanded it to bubble underneath him and push.

It obeyed.

Both men were lifted up, though Henry found himself slammed onto his back and his focus stuttered just long enough for Joey to slip through and appear farther away.

Joey huffed and wiped his mouth. Henry had managed to get between him and the sad excuse of a devil. **"All right, Henry. Credit where it's due, that was kind of impressive. But you've managed to officially annoy me now, so it won't happen again."**

Henry slowly rose from his hands and knees, leveling a glare at his old boss. The glare turned into a smirk. "Who said I need it to?" He lifted his hand. Pinched between two fingers was the end of Bendy's chain. "I just need to keep you away from this, right? Well," the chain dropped and a solid ink wall rose around it, "that's easily done. While you're breaking through that, Sammy will be sending your sorry soul to whatever lies beyond for you."

 **"NO!"** Joey's voice sent the ink sea blasting away from where he stood. He rushed Henry, who easily sidestepped, and slammed into the ink wall.

It didn't even shudder.

"This ends, Joey." Henry turned Joey around and slammed his face with an ink-armored fist, sending the director flying. "This ends now. No more replays," another hit, "no more do-overs," a push-back with a wave, "your Final Curtain. This _is_ The End. _Your_ End. Joey..." Henry seized the front of Joey's shirt. "You. Lose."

Henry willed the both of them as far away from Bendy as possible, then roughly dumped Joey.

Now or never.   
  


Sammy impatiently waited, his foot tapping incessantly. "He should be done by now. What are they doing, having civil conversation?"

"He's fine," Allison assured. "He has to be."

As if on cue, Henry jolted and reared back out of the circle. "Sammy!"  
  


Joey roared, his fury unable to be voiced by words.

The chain.

It took two teleports to get back to Bendy.

_That cursed wall. It will break._   
  


Sammy dropped instantly, his fingers hovering over the edge of the circle and a strange incantation bubbling from his throat.   
  


_A heat all around him. The exorcism. No! The wall cracked! He will not lose!_   
  


Sammy finished speaking and the beast reared up to its full height, shrieking and howling as ink dripped upwards off its body. Sammy sneered, "See you on the other side of the Machine!"   
  


_The wall broke. Joey lunged for the end of the chain. He was_ so... clo-...se.   
  


Silence.

Sammy stared at the trapped demon.

Henry stared at Sammy.

Allison stared at Henry.

Tom had left the room.

No one breathed.

No one moved.

Until...

The demon hissed a sigh, swayed, pitched, and finally fell.

Sammy stepped back.

Nothing moved.

Henry was first. "Did it work?"

Sammy turned away from the circle and its captive, the sight of his former 'lord' still making him shudder.

"Sammy, did it work?" Henry's voice was urgent. Still no response from the ink man, so he resorted to finding out for himself. He again slipped through the barrier, this time carefully kneeling by the prone figure.

He breathed, stretched out his fingers, and gently laid them on Bendy's chest.


	8. In the Mind of the Demon

Henry didn't have to look for Bendy this time. He appeared right next to the little toon. Bendy was on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. Henry's brow knit and he carefully approached the toon. He was almost close enough to touch when ink spikes sprang up between the two, sending the human jumping back.

Bendy now faced Henry, his eyes were off model, beady and terrified. Henry spread out his hands. "Hey, Bendy. It's okay now. It's me. You don't have to worry anymore."

"Liar! All liars! They're all liars!"

Henry swallowed. What was going on with Bendy? The man knelt and kept his expression and voice soft, "Bendy. I'd never lie to you. It's okay, really. Joey's gone. We can go home."

Bendy's pupils dilated slightly, their pie-cut shape starting to become distinguishable. "... Home?"

"Yeah, home. Once we get out of here, we can all go home. We can be free."

Bendy relaxed slightly. Home? Free? That was what-... "No!" The ink sea bubbled up, "Liars! The creators lie!"

Henry stood, raising his voice above the noise, "No! It was Joey! Joey lied to you! He lied to all of us! Even me!"

"You're a creator! You're a traitor!" Bendy crouched and pointed a finger at Henry. The sea beneath them rose up and grabbed Henry's arms, dragging him down. The human tried to use his mental ability to fight back, but nothing happened. The chains just pulled him harder, forcing him to take a knee.

"You!" Bendy's eyes reverted to the beady, off-model look, "I know who you are, Henry! You were the one who brought me into this world! You were the one who abandoned me and left me to that... that _monster!_ You're a liar! They're all liars! Everyone lied to me! Why should you, the one who betrayed me, be any different?"

Henry was having trouble focusing on Bendy's words while trying not to be pulled down any farther. He met the toon's furious gaze, "I didn't know! Joey was my friend while I worked here! I couldn't have imagined he'd become this way!"

"Aw, sure, pal. Play the ignorance card! See what good that does ya!" Bendy snapped his fingers and the ink pulled Henry to his back, securing his arms and legs in a painfully vulnerable position. The little devil stood over his creator, smiling maniacally. "Joey had his fun, didn't he? All 'cuz he put his soul in my twisted body and chained down my mind. Well why not do the same to you? All this talk of 'setting them free and going home,' it's all still on _your_ terms cuz you're the only one left who's soul's got influence here."

Bendy planted a foot on Henry's chest and set the tips of his fingers over the human's heart. "Well I gotta news flash for ya, pal. I'm done listening to lies." The gloved hand phased through and gripped around Henry's soul. "I'll do what you're suggesting. I'll set them free," the grip tightened, "But we're doin' it on _my_ terms."

Bendy pulled.

Henry's back arched and he full-voiced a scream. The pain in his chest, no, in his _whole body_ wasn't a kind of pain that could be described. It worsened while the devil standing above him slowly tore up a pulsating, gold light. It felt like everything that made Henry was draining away as more of that gold light was mercilessly ripped from its anchor.

Just as Henry thought he couldn't take any more, it stopped.

Henry slowly opened one eye.

He'd stopped. Bendy had stopped. His expression was... scared? Manic? Both?

"You know what?" Bendy said, staring at the middle distance, "Why does _Joey_ get all the fun with you in the cycles? I got an idea. We'll do the cycle again, y'know, keep the game going. That work for ya?" The devil's gaze flicked to Henry's. "Yeah. We'll do it again. But this time," his grip shifted, "with a _twist!_ "

Bendy's fingers wrenched through the gold light. Henry saw gold, white, then black.

The first thing Henry became aware of was pain. A sharp, throbbing pain in the middle of his chest. Something was... _very_ wrong. It felt like something wasn't... wasn't quite there.

Something had broken. Bendy had...

Henry forced his eyes open. What had Bendy done? What happened to himself? What about the others?

"Are they okay?"

Allison?

"I _don't know_ , all right? I've never seen that before."

That was Sammy.

Henry forced a sound through his throat. The action made his head buzz.

Then movement on his right side. Something shifted and stood in his field of view. Smallish, rounded, a break on the top of a circle.

"Sammy? Is that-"

"Stay back, Allison. He's perfect. On-model."

"But how?"

Henry's mouth opened. "Bend-... soul."

"Oh, _yes_!"

That voice. High-pitched. Loud.

Bendy.

Henry rolled to his side, struggling to command his arm to move and lift him.

Somewhere behind him, Bendy spoke again. "I gotta say, old man. That was a trip if ever I had one. Guess soul compatibility really is a thing."

"What did you do to him?" Sammy's voice took a furious edge.

"Relax, music man," Bendy's tone was not one to relax at, "I just broke his soul in half so I could get my perfect form and still have some fun with the old man."

Silence. Henry could hardly wrap his head around what Bendy just said.

He broke. His soul. In _half_?

"He was a real sport about it too! I'm surprised ya didn't hear the screamin'."

With a growl, Sammy lunged for the devil. With a smirk, Bendy flipped around the symbols on the circle, inverting the seal to keep them out.

Henry tried to get his body off the ground to no avail. Bendy chuckled and crouched in front of the man, tilting his head up with one gloved hand. "Aw, don't worry about it, bucko. You'll be right as rain as soon as I start it over."

The devil's smile fell and his expression became... almost forlorn. It only lasted a second, hardening to a cold stare. "You don't have to pretend to care anymore. One more test. Meet me back here," he raised his fingers, primed to snap, "if you can."

Bendy's fingers clicked.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The door closed behind Henry with an air of finality.

"All right, Joey. I'm here. Let's see if I can find what you-..."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"... _no_..."


	9. Part 414

This...

  
Is...

  
_NEW..._

. . .

Press on!

  
Set us free!

  
_Help me._

. . .

Number four-hundred and fourteen


	10. Once Again

Henry sat with his back to the door, his mind finally starting to quiet after a good old-fashioned mental breakdown. The fact he was in some kind of time loop wasn't too bad, it was that he _remembered_ all of them. Every one. All four-hundred and thirteen.

He was fairly certain that kind of revelation wouldn't exactly do _anyone's_ psyche any favors.

So he was taking a moment— rather, many moments— to compose himself and make sure he was ready for this new cycle. Because it _was_ new. Everything was drained of the sepia toned color, turned all dull whites and blacks like a cel-shaded animation.

It was also _very_ quiet.

And Joey wasn't in control of it. That might render knowing past cycles more of a hindrance than a help.

He remembered everything, but at the same time, knew nothing.

_His friends._

He perked. If he remembered, did his friends? A new sense of urgency bubbled in his chest. That old war drive pushed him to his feet. _Press_ _on!_

He breathed slowly and deeply.  
  


"All right, Bendy. I'm here. Let's do this one more time."


	11. Welcome Home, Henry.

[Yes, this YouTube video is chapter 2. The song-and-dance thing is canon to the story, however, Henry being a toon is not; he's still human. Credit to Squigglydig for the video.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iV9fxNi46zU)


	12. No Wandering

Henry ran as Bendy’s cold and cruel laughter echoed across the halls. His feet moved on their own, taking him straight back to the Machine. He stopped short and slipped behind the door frame while trying to quiet his breathing. 

What on earth had he just witnessed? Bendy was a mischievous little toon, sure; it was literally his whole shtick. But that? Taunting him? Threatening him? Perhaps Bendy really was mad at him. Was the little devil going to “play” with Henry for another four-hundred cycles? The thought summoned a wave of despair that threatened to manifest itself through tears. 

_ Press on _ ! 

Henry set his jaw and clenched his fists. No. This was going to be different. He remembered it all, now; he knew what to do. He knew  _ Bendy _ . So what if it took a few more cycles? He’d set them free. All of them. 

He swiped his hands in one motion from the back of his head over his face, exhaling slowly all the while. Refocus. Get his head in the game.  _ Press on. _

What needed doing? The Machine needed to be turned on. 

The cycles came back to him. 

Raise the Machine, find the six objects, turn on the pressure, then the power. 

The steps were completed in quick succession with a brief pause for a bacon soup snack. The Power Station hummed to life and Henry turned on his heel to head back to the Machine. He didn’t think much of it; go back to the Machine room, look through the boards, and Ink Bendy would-...

No. He wouldn’t. This was different. There was no Ink Bendy anymore. 

And no footprints. 

That detail was such a consistent thing, Henry didn’t notice until he did a double take. There were normally ink footprints leading from the Machine room to a locked closet. 

Sammy’s? Henry had never known for sure. 

Regardless, they weren’t there. 

Somewhat on edge now, Henry continued to the Machine room. The doorway wasn’t boarded up, so Henry walked right in. No jumpscare, no demon, just the Machine loudly chugging away. 

“Okay, now what?” Henry asked the air. Should he just… turn around and go back to the entrance? Fall through the floor? 

He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. This was going to be the most confusing cycle, for sure. He glanced back up, and was met with a pair of wide, beady eyes. 

Henry yelped and jumped back, tripping over his own feet and landing heavily on his back. He scrambled to his feet, ready to bolt, then paused. 

Those eyes belonged to a cutout. A cutout of Bendy, but… terrifyingly off-model. Ink dripped down the forehead and leaked from the eyes and mouth. It stained the bowtie and gloves. Some of the shaded parts of his body were chipped and faded. The cardboard toon held a sign that read “WANDERING IS A TERRIBLE SIN.” 

Henry took a step back. Was this… supposed to keep him away from whatever wasn’t… normal? Keep him from ‘wandering’? His gaze drifted in thought. It made a bit of sense, actually. He looked back up and discovered that taking eyes off the Wandering Bendy was a mistake. It was now across the threshold of the Machine room and up in Henry’s face, far too close for comfort. Henry inhaled sharply and skipped back again. 

He glanced to his left. The hallway was clear. He looked back to the cutout. It hadn’t moved. 

He took a step. Then another. He kept staring at the cutout. When his sight of it was cut off by the wall, he turned and ran to the exit’s hall. He almost charged straight down it but stopped and dared a look back the way he’d come. 

The cutout appeared out of thin air, it’s beady eyes quivering and stretched smile twitching. It slid across the ground toward Henry, making an awful hissing sound all the while. 

Henry backed up, away from the cutout and the entrance to the hall, when a semicircle of cutouts spawned around him, corralling him toward the hall. Henry kept backing up, his pulse starting to rise. Is this how Bendy was going to control where he went? Replacing a growling ink monster with creepy, hissing cutouts? 

... Effective. 

Yet he still didn’t run. Even though his “escape” through the floor was barely eight steps behind him, he didn’t make a break for it. 

Call it stupidity, call it curiosity, Henry wanted to know what would happen if he didn’t do what these things wanted him to. 

About four steps from where the floor gave out, he bumped into something. Hot breath rasped down the back of his neck and something sharp gripped his upper back. 

_ “Tag.” _

Darkness. 

Then he tripped over a pipe and faceplanted to the floorboards. 

Henry stayed there for a few seconds, wondering what he’d missed. He pushed himself up, unhooking his foot from that dumb pipe across the floor. 

Wait, what just happened? 

Did he... die? 

_ ‘Tag.’ _

Bendy, or someone, had said that and… sent him back in time? Memories of being too slow to outrun the demon reminded him that, yes, that is what happened. 

Though he’d never faceplanted over that pipe before. That was new. And kind of hurt. 

“All right, guess that answers that question,” Henry mused, standing and dusting off his pants. “Once more, the “right way,” this time.” 

He approached the doorway, the cutout popped up, and he took off sprinting down the hall. He didn’t bother trying to go another way and barely took note of the fact that the floor wasn’t getting covered in ink before he was crashing through the floor. 

The landing wasn’t as good as it had been. Usually Henry could stay on his feet, but this time, the impact sent a pain through his shins, forcing him to crouch and plant his hands down into the knee-deep ink. 

“Eughh…” he grimaced, “This stuff is bad enough just in my shoes.” His endeavors to shake his hands clean were interrupted when a plank thunked him on the head. 

“Ow!” he bent over and hugged the back of his head, “ow, ow, ow…. Did that little devil drop something on me?” 

There was no devilish shape at the hole’s mouth. Just sporadically dripping ink. 

A glowing fleck of dust floated past Henry’s nose. His gaze followed it until he noticed the shining words on the wall. 

_ “I ALWAYS FALL _ ,” they read. 

Henry blinked. This… wasn’t possible. He couldn’t see those hidden words without the special glass. His hand finally came down from his head and had another surprise. 

His hands were glowing. Specifically, his fingertips were glowing. They looked as if they had been dipped in gold ink, then held upright and allowed the ink to drip down the length of his fingers. The glowing stuff was heavily smeared over the side of his thumb and forefinger, and, after blinking a few times, Henry realized his eyes were also glowing, albeit faintly. 

The man stared at his hands, then the message, then back to his hands. Was this the same stuff? The same invisible ink? He stepped forward and planted both hands on the wall. Sure enough, inky fingerprints stuck to the wood. 

“Huh. This new one is full of surprises.” Henry furrowed his brow, “I should leave another message, just in case.” 

After selecting a blank wall, he wrote “ _ I CAN SEE NOW _ ” in large letters. He also smeared a 414 under it to mark when it was made. 

The ink was drained, and the next halls were traversed without any difficulty. Henry kept marking 414 under existing messages, leaving a few new ones, and figuring out this power could be turned on and off, so to speak, at will. He also discovered the black ink didn’t like his gold too much; it slid away like trying to get two matching magnets to touch. That made cleaning off his clothing and skin easy. 

Finally, he reached the coffins and circle room. He’d never known what made him pass out or if anything happened to him while he was, but he wasn’t too keen on getting the headache. 

He glanced at the door on the other side of the room. Could he skirt around to it? 

As soon as his foot hit the floor over the threshold, his vision swam and swayed. Noise assaulted his ears and images flashed before his eyes: the open exit door, Bendy with a gold light in his chest, and his own hand covered in blood. 

Henry’s head hit the floor. 


	13. Recording Gold

As usual, Henry woke up with a headache. That kind of thing seemed common in the cycles. He grabbed his axe and took a swing at the boarded up door, numbly moving on to the Music Department. 

He still grimaced at the shin-deep ink in that one hallway. The stuff was always an annoyance to walk through. 

He didn’t realize Sammy hadn’t shown up until he was startled by a Wanderer cutout against the wall the musician was supposed to have walked through. Henry scowled at it, “You’re freaky.” 

With one swing of his axe, the cutout fell to the floor in pieces. 

Well, now to find those switches to open the door. He swept aside a bunch of soup cans. Had he really drunk all of them at once in the past? How did he not throw up? The stuff wasn’t even that good; basically just a heart attack in a can. 

He hit the switch behind the cans, then humored himself and punted a soup can down the hall. 

Maybe a bit childish but he’d never done it before. Suddenly self-conscious about the reassembling cutouts, he turned around. “Wha-?”

He started at the cutout. It changed. It was not only intact, but on-model. Henry furrowed his brow, staring at the cutout for a good minute. The cutout stared back, pie-cut eyes unwavering. 

Then Henry cut it down and moved on. 

The door opened, but curiosity got the better of him and he backtracked. There was the cutout, reassembled and still on-model. And… crying? A single drop of fresh ink trailed down the face from the right eye. Henry bent down and swiped it with his thumb. Remembering the ink-tear sea in Bendy’s mind, Henry touched the ink to his tongue. 

Salt. 

Again Henry stared at those static eyes. A part of him ached. “What are you trying to tell me, Bendy?” he asked.

The cardboard didn’t respond. 

Henry sighed. He left a 414 on the wall behind the cutout and proceeded to the door into the Music Studio. 

The funny altar to Bendy made Henry’s lip curl. “I am so glad I snapped you out of that, old friend.” He clicked the nearby tape, muttering every word along with the Prophet’s voice. 

_ “... But, love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?”  _

_ Click _ . 

One… two… three. 

And then there was silence. 

Henry turned around. 

Still silence. 

That wasn’t right. Sammy himself was supposed to repeat that final line. 

Yet, there was silence. 

“Uhm…” Henry half-raised his arms, “Amen?” 

Nothing. 

“Sammy?” 

Nope. 

“Sammy!” 

Just wood and ink. 

“Sammy Lawrence!” 

Still nope. 

… 

Should he try insulting Bendy? 

No, no,  _ no _ . He was trying to  _ save _ Bendy as much as his other friends. 

“Fine, then. Press on, I guess.” 

He went to Sammy's office with the waterfall of ink— inkfall?— blocking the door. 

He clambered in through the glassless panoramic window. Hit the switch. Back out the window. 

Why hadn’t he done that before? 

Forget Wally’s keys for that closet, just axe the hinges off. Presto, no door. 

Again, why hadn’t he done that before? 

He memorized the sanctuary’s song, which he noted somehow changed every cycle. 

Projector on, hop over the railing onto a barrel, then have ample time to play the necessary instruments. 

Seriously, why hadn’t he done that before? Surely he’d thought of it. 

Get into the sanctuary, hit the switch. Try to ignore the crazed inky scrawls on the wall. Try. 

He stepped out of Sammy’s sanctuary, axe at the ready to fight some Searchers. They wouldn’t pop up until he took a step forward, so Henry stood still for a few moments, sighing at the monotony. He glanced up at the balcony Sammy would-...

He wasn’t up there. 

Henry’s brow furrowed, both in confusion and concern. 

No sign of the musician. He wasn’t in the hall, he didn’t respond to his recording, and now he wasn’t watching from the balcony. 

“Where are you, old friend?” Henry asked. He took the necessary step and seven figures popped into existence. 

Henry froze. 

Wanderers. 

They all held their signs, staring and hissing just loud enough to make the hairs on the back of the human’s neck stand up. 

Henry gripped the axe handle a bit tighter. He took a step. Another. Tiptoeing around the cutouts. 

They turned on their spot, watching his careful, unnerved procession to the far end of the room. Henry reached the open door and turned. All seven cutouts stared. 

Henry slowly inhaled as he turned back and stepped out of the room. “O...kayyy…” he muttered. He walked quickly to the end of the hall where he should be knocked out by Sammy. 

Instead of a metal dustpan clocking him over the skull, something cold and wet wrapped around his face. Air was cut off instantly, something Henry desperately tried to change. He clawed at the dark stuff, but it just jerked him to the floor. Henry writhed and twisted, his vision tunneling as his pulse thudded painfully in his skull. 

“ _ Shhhhh…” _

Something whispered close to his head. Or some _ one _ ? 

Was it Sammy? 

Henry’s struggles slowed. He was running out of air. If it was Sammy, then he should be fine. 

Passing out here was a constant in the cycles. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to change that. 

Then again, his swimming vision and pounding heart left him with little choice. 

He choked a final noise of defiance, then blacked out. 


	14. Caesura

_**Caesura - (noun) A musical term referring to a point where the line is abruptly ceased.**_

Henry could tell he wasn’t awake. It was like the mental awareness from the strange mindspace in Bendy’s head. 

_ “Joey, I appreciate your vitality but I do not appreciate being pulled from my instruments like this.” _

_ “Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head, Samuel,-” _

_ “Sammy.” _

_ “This will be quick. I just wanted to show you something. The greatest instrument to grace this studio.”  _

_ “Why do I feel I could contest that?” _

_ “Just keep walking.”  _

Joey and Sammy rounded a corner. They looked as they did thirty years ago. But... something about this was unfamiliar. Was Henry seeing something from the past? If so, then this must have taken place after he had left. 

The two phased through Henry, who turned and followed them to the Ink Machine room. 

About the only difference was more papers stacked on a table to one side and a railed catwalk stretching around the edge of the room which turned to provide a ledge over the gaping ink well of the churning Machine. 

It was to this ledge that Joey beckoned Sammy. Henry followed. 

Joey leaned over the railing and sighed with satisfaction. “ _ Isn’t that just music to your ears, Samuel?”  _

_ “Sammy. And I prefer music from an instrument.  _ Sir _.”  _ The musician punctuated the last word, a backhanded respect. 

Joey just shook his head.  _ “Heh. Oh, don’t worry. Soon you’ll fall for it Samuel.” _ He roughly thumped Sammy on the back, “ _ You’ll throw your body and soul into this mechanized music.”  _

Sammy glanced down at the Machine, his brow knit. _ “… That sounds… malicious.”  _

Joey took a step back, moving behind Sammy.  _ “Ahh. Well. You always did have a good ear.” _ Without warning, Joey turned Sammy around and punched him hard across the face, sending the musician staggering and landing heavily against the rail. 

Henry jumped forward to intervene, but his hands met air. He could only watch as Joey sized the back of Sammy’s overalls and, with a strength impossible for a man his age, hoisted Sammy over the rail and held him there, nothing but air between Sammy and the Machine twenty feet below. 

Sammy panicked.  _ “J-Joey! What are you-!”  _

_ “Oh, come now, Sammy.” _ Joey scoffed, _ “You never passed up the chance to make music. Consider this your last crescendo!” _

Joey let go. 

“NO!” Henry hit the rail and stretched out his hand, but was powerless as his friend plummeted into the Machine. Sammy surfaced in the inkwell, screams and pleas for help echoing around the room. His voice hitched and he shrieked in agony as the mechanical parts grabbed him, pulling him down to drown in the ink and be crushed in the rotating gears. 

Henry‘s body wouldn’t move, his breath coming in shallow gasps while the last glimpse of his friend was buried under the ink. 

And during it all, Joey straightened his suit and dusted off his sleeves. The screams stopped, and he calmly strode down the catwalk.  _ “Amen to that.” _


	15. Learn To Run

Henry’s eyes snapped open and a shout escaped his throat. It was replaced with a groan hissed through clenched teeth. His arms hurt. Rather, everything above his waist hurt. 

He figured out why pretty quickly. He was tied to a post, that was normal, but his hands were stretched above his head. Well, at least Sammy wasn’t here, so he didn’t have to listen to the monologue again. 

Wait. 

_ Where was Sammy _ ? 

Shaking off the last of the vision and the ringing in his ears, Henry managed to wriggle into a position that allowed slack on the ropes and let him see what he was doing. It took a frustrating five minutes, but finally, with a tear and a groan, Henry lurched forward and landed heavily on the floor. He clambered to his knees, rubbing his chafed wrists. 

_ Thump. _

Henry wheeled around, his heart leaping into his head and ready to sprint out of the room. His sudden tension dissolved instantly into shock and concern. 

“Sammy!” 

The ink man must have been tied up on the other side of the post, released when Henry was. Except, unlike Henry, Sammy was out cold. He’d fallen to his side with his back to Henry , his legs still kind of curled around the post. 

Henry scrambled to his friend’s side, “Sammy?” he turned the ink man over, “Can you hear m-!” He pulled back. 

He had a face. 

Sammy had a face. 

Circular indentations for eyes, a slight raised ridge of a nose, and two thin, drawn lips. Sharp cheekbones defined a more angled jawline. Henry blinked hard a few times just to make sure he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing. “Uh… You have a face,” he commented to the still very unconscious ink man. 

Henry sighed, sitting back and rubbing his temples. “I need to just… start rolling with all this.” His hand dragged over his face. He took in Sammy’s unconscious form, then glanced over to the side room. 

The door was open. And no one else was going in. 

So Henry went in. 

It was rather unremarkable. Very small. Just a table with a microphone and a few dials on a soundboard. A shelf was mounted on the wall with multiple collections of music. A quick perusal of the titles prompted a cocked eyebrow.  _ Build our Machine, Can’t be Erased, Gospel of Dismay, Rivers of Mayhem, Amen, _ and a few others with inked out titles. There were several pages scattered over the floor. 

Henry picked up the banjo leaning against the wall beside the door. Sammy favored this instrument. Henry smiled at the memories of the late studio;  _ Sammy plucking away at all hours, pencil tucked behind his ear and papers strewn across the floor of his office.  _

_ “Sammy?”  _

_ A discordant  _ twang _ , and Sammy slapped his pencil down. “Henry! I have one rule! No interrupting me when I’m composing!”  _

_ Henry raised his hands and shrugged, “I thought you might want to know that it’s two a.m..”  _

_ “... No, it’s-“ Sammy glanced at the Bendy clock on the wall. It wasn’t ticking. “Oh. … Well-,“ the next word was a vulgarity that could get a man fired back then.  _

_ Henry gave a playfully disapproving eye roll, clapping Sammy on the shoulder, “Hey, if you chew on some soap, I’ll give you a lift home.”  _

_ Sammy scoffed, “Nah, I’ll sleep here.”  _

_ “Okay,  _ that _ you are most certainly  _ not _ doing.”  _

_ “Ha! Says Mister ‘I Haven’t Seen Linda In Days Because I Pull All-Nighters Consecutive Days A Week’.”  _

_ “Okay,” crowed Henry, dragging Sammy up by an overall strap, “That was  _ one _ time.”  _

_ Sammy swatted his hand, “Yeah, the day I learned to yell at you to stop working.”  _

_ “Feeling's mutual, Sam. Feeling’s mutual.”  _

_ That prompted a jab to the gut, “Never call me that.”  _

_ The two laughed.  _

Henry chuckled as the memory faded. He happened to glance to his left, almost jumping out of his skin at the sight of the Wanderer. 

It hissed. 

Henry’s eyes rolled, “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” 

It kept hissing. 

“But I’m taking Sammy with me,” Henry muttered. He set the banjo against the post, grabbing his axe and sheathing it into his pant leg. Standing next to Sammy, he ran over the best way to go about getting the both of them to the next area. 

The Wanderer now hissed from the sound room’s door. 

“I’m not leaving him!” Henry barked. To prove his point, he managed to shoulder Sammy in a fireman’s carry and started down the hall. “Huh, I think you lost weight in that Machine, pal,” Henry chuckled. 

He had to set Sammy down to clear the boarded up door, his axe breaking as usual. Didn’t help the usual prod of annoyance. 

Henry slowed when he spotted the ink-covered hall. Could he skirt around? 

“Please don’t pop up,” he muttered through clenched teeth. 

Bendy splashed up from the ink with a “BOO!”

Henry growled, “He popped up.” He turned down the left hall. 

“Where ya goin’ Henry?” Bendy called, “Don’t’cha know how to greet an old pal?!” The edge in his voice would have shamed any knife. 

Henry ran as fast as he could with an unconscious ink man slung across his back. The open door spurred him on; as soon as he passed the threshold, he slammed and barred the door, stepping back at the loud thump on the other side. 

Henry couldn’t help a slight smile. Did Bendy just run into the door? 

Knowing they were safe for now, Henry gently set down Sammy and sat on a crate for a breather, ignoring the little devil’s pounding on the door. 

Eventually the pounding stopped, though the shadow didn’t move away. What was he doing? 

Bendy chuckled. It sounded sad. Or maybe bitter? “You were always so good at running from the danger,” the edge was gone, “I should have learned how.” 

A muffled pop, and the shadow disappeared. 

Henry blinked. He stared at the door, imagining the toon on the other side. ‘I should have learned how’? What did that mean? 

His musings were broken at the sound of a can clattering and rolling. Henry smiled and stood, greeted by Boris padding around the corner after his lost treat. The toon spotted Henry and pulled up short, pie-cut eyes stretched wide. 

Henry raised his hand, “Hey, Boris.” 

The wolf’s ear twitched. 

A few minutes later, Boris ushered Henry into his safehouse. The human walked straight back to the makeshift bedroom. He maneuvered Sammy off his shoulders and managed to get him into the hammock. As he pulled a blanket over the unconscious form, an image of himself tucking in his young son flashed into his mind. 

He pulled back. 

Tears sprang to his eyes unheeded. His gaze settled on his wedding ring, still firmly on his finger, the gold metal dully shimmering despite the ink. 

A longing for home hit him hard. 

So hard he had to sit down. 

Boris checked on him a few minutes later, finding him hunched over himself and leaned against the cot, staring blankly into the middle distance and silently crying. 

The toon sat next to him in an effort to simply be a comforting presence. It did seem to work, though; Henry started breathing deeper and more evenly. He rested the back of his head on the cot and glanced at Boris through half-lidded eyes. He gave the wolf a sad smile, “Thanks, Boris.” 

The human and wolf sat in companionable silence for a bit until Henry yawned. Boris looked at him expectantly. 

“Yeah, okay, I guess I’d better get some sleep.” Henry stood and rubbed his eyes before making himself comfortable on the cot. 

Boris smiled and left the room. 

In Henry’s defense, he did try to sleep. But no amount of tossing or turning was making his nerves calm or the homesickness abate. So, he resorted to quietly thinking. 

Thinking about the cycles. About his home. About Bendy. About what the little devil had in store for him this cycle. About how many of his old friends he could save and how he could save them. About how to save Bendy. 

Bendy. Gosh, the poor thing had to be so lost. His whole existence consisted of being used, abused, and lied to. Would he even trust anyone to save him? Even his own creator? 

Maybe that was what this cycle was for? He did mention a test. Did he  _ want _ Henry to save him? 

Then again, he seemed pretty defiant and set on keeping Henry in the studio with the whole “Welcome Home” thing. 

Did Henry escape Joey’s game just to land in Bendy’s? 

Henry shook his head. Stop being so pessimistic. That’s not how hope works. 

He laughed softly. 

Hope. 

A priceless thing in a place like this. 

He shouldn’t be losing his grip on it so soon. 

Then again, he’d been holding on for 413 of these awful cycles, only just now changing something. 

Would it take that long to change something else? To save a demon who didn’t trust him? 

He hoped not. 

There it was again. 

He hoped. 

When it became clear to him he would not be sleeping, he remembered finding some papers in the trunk. 

Maybe he could read them. 


	16. Buddy's New Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read this first. (It's not mine, credit to Elwensa, but the conversation is canon to this story)
> 
> https://twitter.com/Elwensa/status/1204873841773891585?s=20

“I am proud of you.” 

Buddy’s frame wouldn’t stop shaking even after he returned the hug. So Henry just held him. He figured the boy needed it. 

He also made a silent promise. 

Alice would not take him. Buddy would not die this cycle. Not again. 

Yes, some things were constant in the cycles. 

But this wasn’t going to be one of them. 

He’d do what he could as many times as he had to until Buddy escaped the tainted angel’s clutches. 

He didn’t realize his grip was tightening until Buddy tapped his shoulder. “Wha-? Oh, sorry about that.” He let go and helped the wolf to his feet. 

Buddy rubbed his eyes and smiled. A small, genuine, and hopeful smile. Henry returned it. 

The two sat down and were quickly lost in conversation. Henry was patient with the slower written responses, something Buddy was thankful for. 

Buddy talked about how he’d survived in the studio and his internal struggle with Boris. [He’s definitely here,] he’d written, [it’s like two minds in one body. I had control for a long time, but then it was like he slowly leaked over me until I was kicked into the back seat. I’m not really sure what it was that put me back in control, but I’m glad for it.] 

“You mentioned having to outrun the Ink Demon on occasion?”

[Yes. The Miracle Stations have been literal lifesavers. They never fooled Sammy, though.] 

“Sammy chased you?” 

[Well… no. But yes?] Buddy scratched his head with the end of his pen. [It’s complicated. I never knew what to do about him. Sometimes he’d leave me alone and other times he’d run after me with an axe.] He paused before writing again. [I’ve seen him cut down other Borises and throw them to the Machine.] 

Henry sighed, “Is that why you were so wary when I brought him in?” 

[Yes. I wasn’t sure who either of you-] He stopped, then crossed out the phrase. [I felt like I knew who you were even though I’d never seen you before. At least, I don’t think I’ve seen you before.] 

Henry’s brow lowered. 

Buddy added more. [It’s strange, really. I’ve been getting deja-vu all day today. It hit really hard when I found you.] 

Henry set the paper down, “The cycles.” 

Buddy’s head tilted. 

“Oh boy. Okay, how to explain this? We, er specifically,  _ I, _ have been stuck in a time loop. It’s all part of some kind of sick game Joey invented to get revenge on me for leaving.” 

The pen scribbled. [The blips.] 

“The what?” 

The reply took a while. [It’s like this recurring dream I’ve been having. It’s not exactly a dream but it’s also the closest thing I can think of. Like, when you wake up and you know you had a dream but can’t remember what it was about. All of this felt familiar but at the same time, I knew it shouldn’t have. But since you mentioned the cycles, I do remember that, in those not-dreams, there were times the whole world kind of… stuttered. Blipped. I remember those.] 

Henry read it twice. He’d wondered what his dying and coming back felt like to the rest of the world. After all, every time it happened, he was fairly certain time itself had been cranked backward. So apparently this is how it felt. Like stutters. Blips. And it was something Buddy remembered. “Do you remember anything at all in the cycles? Do you remember what happened in the last one?” 

Buddy started to shake his head, then stopped. He thought for a moment, then picked up the pen again. [Darkness.] 

“I… see.” 

A few seconds of silence passed. Buddy jotted down a question. [Do you know what caused them? The blips?] 

Henry sighed. “I… didn’t always play the game perfectly. I sometimes lost the fights. Or didn’t run fast enough.” 

Buddy’s head tilted. His expression asked the implication, but he wrote it anyway, [You died?] 

A small nod. “Though, this swirling ink tunnel always brought me back at these statues of Bendy, healed and oblivious to the fact I’d died in the first place.” 

Henry folded his hands together and thought aloud. “Whenever I’d come across those statues, I’d look at them and my vision would get blurry for a second. I think that’s what… marks time, I guess? So then later, if I died, I’d come back at the time I set the marker. And, even if I was hurt when I set the marker, I’d be healed after the resurrection. 

“And it makes a bit of sense, I guess. I know that the ink can heal and apparently Joey found a way to make it literally turn back time. I just didn’t know you remembered them. Or, were aware of them, at least.” 

Buddy listened intently. He set the tip of his pen to the paper, paused, started a stroke, paused again, then finally wrote, [Does it still work?] 

Henry’s eyes widened slightly. “I… don’t know.” If Joey really was the one who triggered the resurrections, would they? Did Bendy know how to trigger them? 

Or, did they just… happen? Like some kind of independent thing Joey didn’t have to directly control? 

“If they did still work,” Henry tapped his chin, “then having a nifty little ‘turn back time’ trick might be a useful thing to have. Or, at least, be aware of.” 

Buddy gave him a ‘Why would you entertain that idea?’ look. 

Henry tried to laugh, “It wouldn’t be intentional. And I don’t exactly plan on testing it.” 

[Can we change the subject?] Buddy wrote. 

“Ah. Yes.” Henry dragged over a clean sheet of paper and passed a pencil to Buddy. “How about a drawing lesson?” 

Buddy’s whole complexion lit up. 

Henry Stein, giving him a drawing lesson!? 

His tail wagged and thumped against the chair legs as he gave a happy  _ yip! _ of gratitude. 

Henry laughed, “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” 


	17. Give An Amen

Henry set down his pencil. The pages of sketches spread over the table were testament to the past hours of chatting and drawing. But now his attention was turned to the unconscious inkling in the other room. 

Mainly because he’d started talking. 

Henry and Buddy abandoned the papers, walking quickly to the makeshift bedroom. Henry stopped by the cot, where he’d relocated Sammy. 

The musician was still asleep, though he turned and tossed, caught in a dream. “The ritual must be completed. Soon he will hear us. He will set us free.” 

Henry kneeled down, “What the…” he shook Sammy’s shoulder, “Sammy? Can you hear me?” 

“Sheep, sheep, sheep. It’s time for sleep.” 

“Oh, shut up, please,” Henry muttered over the chanting. He managed to turn Sammy onto his back, which helped with the tossing. 

“I summon you, Ink Demon!” 

Henry shook the inkling a bit more, “Why are you giving your spiel?” he asked, “Wake up, Sammy!” 

Sammy couldn’t hear him. His hands suddenly swept upward. “Free me, I beg you! No, my lord! Stay back! I am your Prophet, I am your- AAHHHH!” His back arched as he cried out. 

Henry grit his teeth and hauled Sammy upright. “Samuel Adam Lawrence!  _ Wake up! _ ” 

Sammy’s eyes snapped open. Henry almost dropped him, startled by the wide, glowing, solid gold eyes. 

Sammy stared blankly for a few moments. He blinked slowly, then his gaze focused on Henry. His eyes widened even more and he reached up slowly. “My… lord?” 

He fell limp. His eyes half-closed as his body ragdolled. Henry let him back down onto the cot. “Sammy?” 

Nothing. Not even a blink. 

Buddy whined. He watched as Henry tried sitting Sammy upright and lightly slapping him. Not a flinch. Henry held the inkling by the shoulders and tried talking to him.

Still nothing. 

Buddy didn’t hear what Henry said next. If he said anything. Only thing he was aware of was that the man left. 

The back door of his safehouse clicked shut. 

Boris panicked. Did he just go back the way he’d come running from the Demon?!

_ Be quiet _ , Buddy ordered. He figured it best to go see if Henry went the direction his mental passenger was afraid of. 

_ I won’t have to go through the door. Just make sure Henry gets back through it _ . He wanted to head back to the Music Studio itself, but stopping at the door was the only compromise the wolf would let him act on. 

Meanwhile, Henry tiptoed down a horribly quiet hallway. He stepped over the broken head of his axe and a few boards. Almost there. Around a corner. 

Bingo. Back to the room and his target: the banjo. He softly stepped forward. His fingers curled around the neck. He lifted it. 

_ Well, so far, so-  _

Five Wanderers popped into existence. Their hissing sent a shiver down Henry’s spine. 

_ … not good! _

He turned and ran. 

“ _ What do you think you’re doing back here?! _ ” a Bendy clone roared. More clones and half a dozen Searchers sprang from puddles. 

As Henry ran, it seemed like the space behind him filled with Wanderers, clones, and Searchers, way more than Henry thought possible. The adrenaline and terror shooting through his veins spurred him on at a speed he hadn’t attained in years. Round a corner, another, home stretch to a door with a worried wolf’s snout poking around it. 

Just a few more steps… a couple more… 

Something cinched around his shin. 

He took it with him through the door. Buddy used his whole weight to slam it shut and slice off the inky hand around Henry’s leg. The toon was almost blown to the floor with the door. Something very big and very heavy slammed into it, threatening to pop it right out of its frame. Buddy hopped up and lowered the barricade. It wouldn’t hold long. 

He seized Henry’s arm and yanked him back toward his safehouse. He didn’t stop or let go until he had firmly closed and locked the door of his little haven behind them. 

Henry, looking a bit green, covered his mouth and bolted for the bathroom. 

And the following moments were an example of an instance in which Buddy wished he didn’t have such keen hearing. 

“Dang it, old man,” Buddy heard him groan, “you’re not an army grunt anymore.” 

Buddy met up with the man back in the bedroom. Henry had pulled a crate up beside the cot and was strumming the banjo. 

Buddy’s ears flattened slightly. That thing was  _ not _ in tune. At all. 

Thankfully, even Henry’s untrained ears could tell. He turned the strings and managed to land on an actual note. Buddy helped him properly tune to the other notes; an instance in which he was glad for the keen hearing. 

Henry tentatively strummed a chord. The sound made Buddy’s tail wag. Henry smiled at him. “Thanks, Bud. But I haven’t so much as looked at an instrument for years. Hopefully I can remember how to do this.” 

Buddy tilted his head. He wanted an explanation. 

“There was a little jingle Sammy taught me to play,” Henry said, “It’s Bendy’s whistle; the first thing the maestro composed for my dancing demon.” 

Buddy smiled again, though also creased his brow and pointed at Sammy. How was this supposed to help? 

Henry understood. “I’m hoping hearing music might help him snap out of this… coma, I guess.” He plucked a few notes, testing the pitches. “It’s no guarantee, but I can hope, right?” 

Buddy nodded and wagged his tail a few times. 

It… didn’t really work as they were hoping. 

Henry did manage to get the song played, but Sammy barely responded. One of his fingers twitched and his eyes widened ever so slightly before closing even more. 

Henry set the banjo down and kneeled next to his friend. “C’mon, Sammy. Can I get an amen?” 

The inkling didn’t respond. Henry’s face turned… carefully unreadable. 

It unnerved Buddy. He figured it better if he left. So he did. 

He tried to busy himself with chores; take down and fold the meager laundry he owned, straighten a few soup cans, wash his dishes as well as possible, and check on his weapon stash. 

Yes, he had a weapon stash. The only reason it was in a hole in his floor was because he didn’t like keeping sharp objects in his back pocket. 

Oh yeah, his back pocket. 

That was something he’d failed to mention to Henry. 

He was fairly certain the common term among the animators was “Hammerspace.” It was pure cartoon logic, where an animated character could reach behind himself and pull out laughably huge hammers or large amounts of small objects. 

And apparently it wasn’t limited to on-screen toons. Buddy could use it, too. Though he’d never seen any other toon or inkling ever use it. 

He never called it Hammerspace. A back pocket made a bit more sense. 

For the most part, he kept soup in this pocket. Lots of it. Also a wrench and a few odd gears. And an actual hammer. 

He pulled the latter three objects from his pocket and set them on shelves in a back closet. His gaze dropped down to a loose board in the floor of the closet. 

Something of a cold shiver wormed down his spine. 

He shoved it away with the board. 

There in the dark were the handles of five fire axes, a two-foot long pipe wrench, a crowbar, and the silvery hilt of a weapon he didn’t actually remember finding, but possessed nonetheless. 

He pulled up the axes, wrench, and crowbar, and stashed them in his pocket. 

Both he and Boris paused when he reached for the last object, hand hovering over the silver hilt. 

Buddy held his breath and grabbed the bar. He inhaled slowly as he pulled the object up out of the darkness and held it up. 

Of the tools in the studio, this thing was easily the most worthy of being called a weapon. 

A two foot blade curved perfectly and dangerously, the vantablack metal hard to focus on properly. Both edges were sharpened to the point they could split a hair. There was a notch on the handle where a grip or finger guard could be, and a Bendy-head shaped cut in the top of the blade. 

Whatever or whoever could have been driven to construct such a weapon as a  _ scythe _ was beyond Buddy, but he figured it might just be useful in the right hands. 

His brain immediately saw Sammy with it. 

He shook it away. Not now. He pocketed it and covered the hole back up. 

Should he go looking for Henry? The man had left after failing to wake Sammy. 

That was about twenty minutes ago. 

Which made the attempt to wake him over an hour ago. 

He figured he should go find the human. 

The sounds of crashing and swearing were easy to follow. 

He didn’t try to open the door. It just led to a small storage room with barrels half-full of ink. It was also locked from the inside. 

Judging by the sounds, the barrels were being hacked to splinters and the ink thrown around. Forcibly. 

Henry was probably using his gold ink to do the latter action. That was a trick he’d discovered, being able to sort of telekinetically throw ink around. 

It sounded like he was doing it a lot. And in great quantities. 

That only made his yelling more worrying. 

Henry cursed Joey’s name. Vehemently. “I hate what you’ve done!” he screamed, “I hate this crooked empire! I hate you for taking my life from me! I hate missing my family! I hate seeing these people suffering! I hate the pressure to set the souls free! I hate being the only one the others can hope on! I hate that my creations have been so tainted! 

“Oh Bendy, I hate I don’t know what’s happened to you! I hate that you’re so lost!  _ I hate it all _ !” 

The shouts and destruction stopped. Buddy heard a clatter followed by a dull thud. 

Forget trying to respect privacy. He fished a key from his pocket and opened the door. 

The room was utterly trashed. The barrels were all in pieces, and ink covered every surface. 

Henry knelt in the middle of it all. He looked small and scared. 

More than that, he looked so painfully tired. 

Buddy slid to his side and gathered the man in a hug. 

Henry neither fought it nor returned it. He just sighed and shook with held-back sobs. “Why me, Buddy?” he asked, his voice hoarse, “Why me? Why couldn’t it be someone else?” 

Buddy had no answer. 

He just held the exhausted man until he fell asleep. 


	18. It's Time To Believe

Buddy was playing a single-person game of cards when Henry walked in, roughly planted his hands on the table, and stared Buddy down. “Why don’t you hate us?” 

It took a few moments for Buddy to realize what he’d asked. And a few more to respond with a question of his own. [Why on earth would I?] 

Henry straightened up, gesturing with his words, “I created Bendy. Sammy gave you to the Machine. By extension, both of us were responsible for killing you. Yet you’ve only ever seen me like an inspiration and you’re willing to trust the one who only ever disrespected you. How? W-why?” 

Something about the man’s expression gave Buddy pause. Were these really the questions plaguing him? Keeping him up at night? 

Was Henry still mad at himself? After their talk over his book, Buddy thought for sure Henry had accepted the fact that what happened wasn’t on him. 

Then again, knowing the truth and believing the truth were two different mindsets. 

Buddy wrote his words carefully. [Maybe it’s because you’re trying to forgive yourself for something you’re not at fault for.] 

Henry physically staggered. He laughed almost hysterically, stammering and threading his hand through his hair, “I- I- I… haha-how can I not be? I c-created Bendy, I-”

Buddy loudly thumped the table with his fist and bared his teeth. His response came fast and scrawled. [You created  Bendy . The Dancing Demon. The little Devil Darling.  Joey made him the Ink Demon.  Not you . It’s never been your fault. It’s never been anyone else’s fault except  Joey’s . Joey and his awful ink.] 

The toon watched with narrowed eyes as Henry read his response. The man let the paper fall and wrung his hands, some kind of internal conflict raging inside his bowed head. 

He aimlessly slunk backward until he found a wall. He slid down until he sat, curled up, against it. 

Buddy stood to try and comfort him, but the man stopped him with a sharply raised hand. “Don’t. I…” his arms wrapped around his head, “I need to think.” 

He ended up thinking long enough for Buddy to sit beside him and start quietly sketching to pass the time. The wolf was inspecting a doodle of Alice Angel, unsure why it looked a bit off; he wasn’t expecting Henry to give a response. 

“Her top half is too sharp.” 

Buddy started slightly and looked at the man. 

“Alice’s form is all rounded,” he pointed at the jagged edge that had managed to sneak in, “no points.” 

Buddy eagerly corrected the lines, happy that the resulting angel looked properly… well, angelic. While he did so, Henry relaxed a bit and stretched himself out, breathing a long, despondent sigh. “Buddy?”

The toon’s attention turned to him. 

“You’ve… been here longer than I have, and are, right now, the only person I can ask about this.” 

Oh boy. Buddy’s tail instinctively curled closer to his body. 

“What is the… state of the other souls here? Can you tell me anything about them? Or… about you?” 

Not exactly the dreaded thing he’d braced for, but not an easy question to answer, either. The ink was awful. Period. It messed with… everything. Senses. Body. Mind. Soul. 

Regardless of his hesitations, Buddy answered honestly. [They are scared, in pain, and desperate. Many have succumbed to hopelessness. I’d wager most of them died not knowing what the ink had in store. Then the only thing they had to look up to was the demon, despite it not being able to help them. It was as much a victim of the ink as they are.] 

[As for me,] his pen paused, [Even after all this time, I feel fear almost constantly. Because of this body. Because of the ink. It wants me to fear everything, like the wolf I look like.] 

Henry’s brow knit, “But… Boris wasn’t really timid. He just wants food all the time, if I know him.” 

[You’re right. But Boris is supposed to be a happy wolf. This isn’t exactly a joyous place; it scares him, and, in tandem, me. I think he thinks he won’t be happy again.] 

Henry handed the paper back, “All the more reason to find a way to get them out.” 

Ears perked, Buddy wrote, [All of them?] 

Henry gave a weary smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If I can.” He rubbed the toon between the ears. 

Buddy spontaneously decided to let the pet-starved wolf take over. The toon leaned into Henry’s hand, and the man complied with more head scritches. Boris then stretched his head up, his leg doing that involuntary bounce thing. 

He finally flopped to the ground, belly up, paws tucked, tail wagging, and tongue out. He looked at Henry with a ‘you know what to do’ look. 

This time, Henry truly smiled. “You can be a regular little pup when you want to, huh?” 

He went for the belly rub. 

Buddy’s keen ears heard it first; a shuffle of moving cloth and an object being picked up. He perked, his nose pointing toward the bedroom. 

“What is it?” Henry asked. 

The twang of a banjo string gave him an answer. 

Toon and human looked at each other for a moment as if to confirm what the other had heard. Mutual agreement took them to their feet and the doorway of the bedroom. Buddy would have gone straight in, but Henry pulled him back out of sight with a finger to his lips. “He had one rule,” he whispered under a few more banjo twangs, “no interrupting him while he composes.” 

Buddy’s eyes widened and he nodded eagerly. The two of them proceeded to silently peek around the doorframe. 

There sat Sammy, his back slightly to them. He plucked the strings again, as if afraid to break them. Gradually, he grew bolder. A few notes rang louder than others, and a melody formed. 

His fingers effortlessly glided over the strings, making the notes sound distant; haunting, even. He hummed a few tones. Strummed a few measures. 

Then his tenor voice lifted. Words materialized with the chords. 

_ Come on down to the cartoon side,  _

_ Take a look around, there'll be lots to find.  _

_ But mind those inky blotches;  _

_ You never know what watches. _

Over thirty years in an inked nightmare, and that man’s voice remained untouched. Clearer than crystal. Perfectly on pitch. 

_ If you’re feeling scared, just play a tune,  _

_ There’s plenty to choose from in the music room.  _

_ One by one, the old band pops in.  _

_ Lonely is not an option. _

_ And he. He will set them free.  _

_ And you. You will believe. _

_ It’s time to believe in what you can’t see.  _

_ It’s time to believe there’s a deep, dark truth.  _

_ It’s time to believe that old Joey _

_ Drew a monster, and now he’s coming after you.  _

_ It’s time to believe in the fallen workshop,  _

_ It’s time to believe in the long ago.  _

_ Whether or not you want to take the stage,  _

_ It’s time for you to steal the show. _

Henry smiled. Buddy, too. Despite the almost despairing tone of the singer and lyrics, the music laid a sense of euphoria over the two; a sense that something good could actually come out of and survive this place. Something like music. 

Sammy hummed some final words and his hands came to a stop. Henry made his presence known, thumping his shoulder against the doorframe as he leaned against it. “ _ That _ gets and amen.” 

The inkling jumped and stared at Henry for a few moments before he just dropped the banjo and turned away, drawing his knees up to his chest and setting his chin on his crossed arms. 

“Oh, come on,” Henry said, “You can’t just effortlessly summon your old magic like that then shut down and sulk.” 

Sammy didn’t move. “Can and am,” he muttered, his voice slightly muffled by his arms. 

Henry’s brow lowered. “Hey, what’s wrong?” The man moved to stand in front of the musician, “Come on, Sammy, don’t act a stuffy blockhead. That’s not you.” 

“You don’t know me.” Again, a low mutter. It was almost growled. 

“Hey, that’s not fair. You’re my friend, Sammy, of course I know-” 

Sammy suddenly leaped up and yelled, “ _ No you don’t! _ You know  _ anything _ about me!” his hands thrashed in wild, angry gestures, “You don’t understand what the ink did to me! You don’t know what it’s like to  _ die _ in that Machine! You don’t know how this  _ abysmal excuse _ of a body feels! You haven’t had  _ every sense _ turned against you! You don’t know what  _ hundreds  _ of  _ pieces  _ of  _ voices  _ all  _ screaming in your head _ sounds like! You haven’t heard the demon  _ command  _ you like a  _ puppet  _ on a  _ string _ ! 

“Well  _ I _ have!  _ I _ know! I’ve  _ killed _ people! I’ve killed strangers and coworkers! I’ve killed friends! I’ve killed a kid— a  _ kid _ , Henry!— for that-... that  _ Demon _ ! 

“You want to know what’s wrong?  _ You really want to _ ? I’m a freak and a murderer! Why don’t you care about that?!” 

Henry now stood backed against the wall with Sammy up in his face. The inkling’s furious gold eyes bored daggers into Henry. He was expecting an answer. 

Henry answered him quietly and carefully. “Maybe because you’re trying to forgive yourself for something you’re not at fault for.” 

Sammy physically staggered. His breaths caught. “I see.” 

“You’re not a murderer, Sammy,” said Henry, stepping away from the wall, “The  _ Prophet _ was. And you’re  _ not _ him. Not anymore. You proved that last cycle.” 

“Well, what if I can’t prove it this one?” Sammy snapped. 

Henry kept his voice calm and quiet. “Is there any reason you couldn’t?” 

Sammy seemed caught off-guard. He stared for a few moments before shaking his head and sitting down again. 

Henry blinked at his conflicted friend, unable to deny the fact he’d been battling with similar mindsets. He carefully sat beside Sammy, not noticing how tensed up he’d gotten. Henry opened his mouth, “It-“ 

“ _ I’m scared, all right?! _ ” 

The sudden outburst snapped Henry’s jaw shut. 

Sammy’s head hung once more. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m just a coward and a flake.” 

Henry frowned. “... A coward who fought to regain his sanity and stared down an ink beast? A flake who stuck with this studio to its dying days and helped me get rid of the Demon?” 

The inkling appeared unconvinced. “I’m… I’m just not strong like you.”

Henry had to laugh at that. “ _HA!!!_ _Strong?!_ You flatter me, Lawrence.”

Sammy looked at the man as though he’d lost his mind. 

“I got attacks and all from the war trauma, but this… 413 cycles’ worth of scares, fighting for my life, following the same script, … too many deaths in too many cruelly creative ways… I hadn’t remembered any of it. 

“But… then it all came crashing down on me.” Henry’s voice hitched for an instant. He looked through his hands, “I-it was like getting a piano dropped on my h-head. M-my hands are still bruised from p-pounding on that door….” he sighed, “It must have t-taken me hours to make a coherent thought.” 

Sammy sat there, staring at him in shock. 

“Honestly, at this point I feel like I’m holding singular threads when it comes to my sanity. All of… everything, it’s-” he whimpered, “daunting and not good for your head.” His voice cracked and he let out a manic chuckle. He then inhaled slowly and composed himself again, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“But I have to press on. If I let go, if I give up hope, if I let the ink get me, if I let my anger for this tainted empire drive me, no one here will have another chance. I don’t want that. I want back to my family and home as much as you do. I want to be able to wake up and not live a nightmare. I hate living a dream and dreaming a life. That’s not how anyone should exist. You, Buddy, Norman, Bendy, all the souls here have been existing like that for too long.” 

The man sighed and leaned back against the wall. “That’s why I have to hold on. I  _ have  _ to press on. I care about these people and, in turn, they give me the hope to keep caring.” 

Nothing was said for a time. 

Finally, Sammy spoke, “I… see. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” 

A bit of relief settled in Henry’s mind. “To be fair, I didn’t know what you were going through either. But I’m glad you told me.” 

“Yeah,” Sammy nodded, “I think I am too. Heh. Well, just goes to show we’re both a couple of messed up blockheads.” 

The two chuckled good-naturedly. 

Several minutes of companionable silence passed before Sammy finally took note of his hand. 

“I changed.” 

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” 

“I have five fingers. And... nails.” 

“Heh, that’s not the only thing,” Henry tapped his nose. 

Sammy copied the gesture and brushed the ridge of his own nose. His eyes widened. “Wh-“ 

“Eh, come on, I know there’s a mirror around here.” 

For the next five minutes, Sammy made faces at the glass and poked his features, as mesmerized at himself as if he were Narcissus. 

Henry couldn’t help himself. He smirked, “Well, Lawrence, I gotta say, thirty years of ink has got nothing on those  _ infinitely stunning _ good looks.” 

“Stein, I oughta  _ slug _ you,” said Sammy, not looking up. 

Henry tossed his head back and laughed. 

Eventually, Sammy backed up and huffed, five-fingered hands planted on his waist. “Henry, why do I have a face?” 

“Ha! I don’t know. Well, actually, I sort of have a theory.” 

Sammy’s eye cocked upward, “Let’s hear it.” 

“Well, we both have our memories. That certainly made a change, especially in your case since you know who you are. And it’s obvious that hope, or lack thereof, has a physical effect on ink beings. Maybe since you remember who you were and have hope again, some of your humanity is starting to show through.” 

“That’s… a nice thought, actually.” 

“Yeah, it is.” Henry paused a moment, then shook his head, “‘Why do I have a face’, do you know how strange that sounds out of context?” 

“Hey, it was a valid question!” Sammy insisted with a chuckle. “But, yes, I see your point.” 

A shadow crossed the doorway. Henry smiled at it, “Hey, Buddy.” 

Sammy turned around. A Boris clone? It looked pretty good; about as on-model as the one on-screen. 

“Sammy, you remember Daniel Lewek?” 

The inkling glanced at him, “Who?” 

The man paused, “Uh, well, he went by ‘Buddy’ around the studio. He was hired as the gofer for the Art Department not long before everything went… under.” 

Sammy’s eyes narrowed in thought, considering the toon in front of him. That name did sound familiar, definitely more recent. A gofer? For the… Art… D-! 

_ “Hello there, Art Department.” _

His eyes widened in horror. 

This was the kid. 

The kid he’d killed. 

Handed over to the Machine. 

The kid that drowned. 

The kid his L-— that  _ Joey  _ —had insisted made the perfect Boris. 

He was right here. 

Words failed him, the attempts turning into terrified pleas and half-formed apologies. 

He felt Henry grip his shoulders and roughly shake him. 

“Sammy! Stop! Just stop!” 

He did. 

The Boris— Buddy —had his hands raised in a non-threatening manner. A piece of paper was held in one. The toon gently handed Sammy the paper. 

[I know we’ve both been through a lot with the ink. But I don’t blame you or the Prophet for what happened. And even if you somehow were at fault, I forgive you.] 

Sammy glanced up at the toon. The sheepish wolf smiled at him. He shyly smiled back and handed Buddy the paper. 

Buddy started scribbling something down, and Sammy felt Henry’s hand, still on his shoulder, give an approving pat before the man left the room. 

Buddy finished writing and showed Sammy. [You sing really well, Mr. Lawrence.]

Sammy couldn’t help but laugh, “Kid, all formality went out the window almost 30 years ago. It’s Sammy.” 

The wolf gave a happy yip. 

“You’re a good kid, Kid,” chuckled Sammy, “I see why that dame from Story was into you.” 

From behind them at the end of the hall, Henry called out, “Hey Bud!” and a bone was tossed their direction. 

Buddy grabbed it out of the air and promptly began to happily gnaw on it. 

Sammy almost doubled over. “Hahaha! You’re a real toon, you know that?” he teased as he rubbed the wolf between the ears. 

Letting Boris’s tendency take over, the wolf stretched his chin up, tipped over, and showed his belly, looking up at Sammy expectantly.

“Uh, w-wait, you want me to-...” Sammy raised his hands and shook his head. “No, no, that’s… that’s just embarrassing, I won’t-“ 

“Lawrence.” 

He looked up at a smirking Henry. “What?” 

“Give the wolf a belly rub.” 

He glanced down at the splayed toon. “Eh, what the heck?” 

Buddy’s whole hindquarters wagged as Sammy tickled his stomach, and Henry looked on and laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a metric ink-ton of foreshadowing in Sammy's song.   
> Consider this an open invitation to comment your thoughts and theories!


	19. All Eyes On Cloud Nine

“Gah!” 

“Oh, yeah, the lights.” Henry’s expression turned bored as he moved toward one end of the room. Alice’s theme continued humming over the small TV screens while he turned the axe head backwards and held the tool like a baseball bat. 

A light clicked on, illuminating a glassed-off stage. The last line of the song approached. 

Alice popped up behind the glass and slammed her fists against it, “ _ I’M ALICE ANGE-  _ ahh!!” she jumped and stepped back. Henry had whacked the window with the flat of his axe, right in front of her face. 

Her expression changed to a confused anger, like someone had dared to interrupt her moment to shine. 

But Henry wasn’t having it. “Alice, listen to me,” he kept his tone firm, but soft, “The cycles have been broken; you don’t have to follow the script anymore. Joey’s gone. The Demon is gone. There’s no reason for us to do this anymore.” 

She stared, saying nothing. 

“I’m trying to save anyone I can. That could include you. Just let us through, please. We can escape this place.” 

Still, the angel remained silent. The tension grew with each passing second. Finally, Alice’s eye narrowed and she pursed her lips. “Tempting. Incredibly. But little flies in my web do not get to bargain with the spider. I have no idea what you mean by ‘cycles,’ though; and scripts are the easiest thing to follow. As for Joey, he’s always been here.” She suddenly rushed the window and struck it with a clawed hand, “But don’t you  _ dare  _ insinuate that the demon is gone!” her sudden outburst lowered, “That little, horned abomination still commands.” 

The angel stepped back and took a more careless air, “All things considered, say I believe you and let you go. What then? You drag me around with your Machine-forbidden mistake of a companion until you find the demon and grovel at its feet to set us free?” She laughed mockingly, “Don’t make me laugh! I know how these stories play. The hero manipulates his enemies into advancing himself out of harm’s way, then leaves them in the dark to rot and waste away.” 

She seemed to be aiming everything at Henry, as if accusing him. “Oh, but you’re  _ so  _ interesting. So… different,” she stared Henry down, deciding his fate. Finally, she chuckled, “Come along now,” she purred as the door opened, “let’s see if you’re worthy to walk with angels.” 

The stage light clicked off. 

Henry inhaled very slowly. Could he please just skip playing errand boy? He heaved a drawn out, exasperated sigh. 

Apparently not. 

Begrudgingly accepting the state of affairs, he turned toward the door. He paused when he realized Sammy hadn’t moved from the middle of the room. The inkling’s expression looked… almost stricken, like someone had given him horrid news. 

“Sammy?” 

His brow lowered ever so slightly. Henry took a few steps toward him, “Sammy.” 

He blinked. His focus flicked around the room before finding Henry’s face, almost like he was coming out of a daze. “Y-yeah?” 

“You good?” 

“Yeah, yeah, just… uh, a bit unnerved, I guess.” 

Unconvincing, but Henry dropped the subject anyway. “All right. Come on, we’ll meet up with Buddy again further down.” 

Sammy merely responded with a noncommittal hum. 

The two proceeded in silence until they came to the familiar fork. Demon or Angel?

“Which one?” Sammy asked. 

“That’s just a matter of if you want ink up to your knees.” 

“I’ll pass.” 

“Angel it is, then.” 

Henry forgot to mention that the door slammed closed, an event that made Sammy audibly yelp. 

“Dang it, I keep forgetting to warn of stuff like that.” 

Sammy gave him a ‘what the heck’ look and tried to get his heart out of his head. The two passed through the brightly lit hall, passing a couch and tape marked with Susie’s name. Henry glossed over it, but Sammy didn’t. 

_ “Everything feels like it’s coming apart.  _

_ “When I walked into the recording booth today, Sammy was there with that… Allison. Apparently, I didn’t get the memo. Alice Angel will now be voiced by Miss Allison Pendle.  _

_ “A part of me died when he said that. There’s gotta be a way to fix this!” _

Henry watched Sammy’s whole posture turn tense. 

“ _‘So interesting, so… different. I have to say, I’m an instant fan.’_ That was on the memo Joey sent to us the day we found out Allison was going to replace her,” Sammy’s voice was edged with malice, “The memo all of us _except_ her received. He _deliberately_ kept that information from her, knowing _I’d_ have to be the one to tell her she was no longer needed! To _make sure_ Allison was solidified in her place, because _no one else_ could destroy her with that news the way _I_ could! And Joey _KNEW_ _that!!!_ ” Fists slammed down on the table on either sides of the tape. 

Sammy huffed sharply, turning to sit on the couch. His hand rubbed at his forehead; when he spoke again, his voice was low and sad. “You know the worst part? The day Allison came in, the day I broke her heart, it was also the day I had intended to pick up an engagement ring.” 

Henry’s heart dropped. 

Sammy hung his head, “Now she doesn’t even recognize me. And rightly calls me a mistake. It’s the only thing I’ve made with her.” 

“Would you stop dissing yourself?” Henry took a step toward his friend, “You’re not a mistake!”

Sammy‘s head snapped up, “Then what am I? A monster? A cultist? A murderer?” he stood and spread his arms, “A  _ prophet _ ?” 

“No,  _ no _ ! You’re Sammy Lawrence. A musical prodigy, a faithful lover,” Henry laid a hand on the inkling’s shoulder, “and a good friend.” 

Sammy glanced away, considering Henry’s words. Eventually, he smirked and looked back. “And... an idiot?” 

Henry chuckled, “Always,” he replied, playfully swatting Sammy over the head. 

The inkling scoffed, his spirits a bit lighter than before. Henry turned toward the end of the hall and waved him over. “Let’s keep going. At this point, Buddy will be waiting for us.” 

= = = 

“ _ We have work to do.” _

The two men stepped out of Alice’s torture chamber and the door slammed behind them. 

Henry glanced at Sammy. He had seemed on edge ever since their first encounter with Alice. But now, it looked like he was engaged in some kind of internal war. His fists clenched hard for several moments before he apparently came to a decision and set his gaze. The grim determination in his solid eyes reminded Henry of a similar gaze in the eyes of fellow soldiers; that kind of hardened resolve of one who would convince himself of something, regardless of if it were true or not. 

It could be dangerous. 

_ “You two can divy up the work to get these jobs done faster. My machines are hungry. Fetch me some spare parts, human. As for the inkling, I’ll try to make this simple: look for valve panels, turn the little wheels, then bring me their power cores.” _

Henry was armed with an axe, though Sammy lacked a weapon. He took the offered plunger, but not before giving Henry a flaming look of ‘if I hear one word of this, I will drown you in the nearest inkwell’. 

It didn’t stop Henry from stifling giggles all the way back up to the top floor; that thing was truly ridiculous. 

= = =

Sammy batted down a cutout, helping it to the floor with his foot. Those things were all over the place; he despised them now. He escaped one demon lord, only to have this tainted angel rise up and take the crown. 

Hmmm… angel… crowned… 

A tune came to mind, then some words. 

_ The angel, she must be uncrowned _ . 

He kept humming and tossing lyrics around; it helped take the mundane out of turning little dials. He had half a mind to just beat the panels open. Then again, he didn’t want to break his fingers. And he didn’t want to use the plunger either, since it was the only weapon-like object he had, stupid and ineffective as it was. Still, he had a feeling Henry needed the axe more than him. Especially since the Searchers didn’t like him. They didn’t attack Sammy, though; they must still think he was the Prophet. 

Oh well, easier for him. 

With a sludgey thunk, the last panel popped open. No power core. 

“What? Are you kidding me!?” Sammy slammed the panel door shut with a frustrated growl. 

Alice chuckled over the speakers, “ _ D’ooh, I guess the core didn’t like your singing.” _

Sammy wheeled around and yelled at the air, “Don’t insult my music! Especially not my voice! Stay out of this!” 

No response, but Sammy could picture Alice smirking behind her microphone. “Angels,” he muttered, “always wanting all eyes on them.” 

The musical Muse suddenly struck again, and struck hard. Notes and words sprung from his mind like magic, sending the maestro on an enthusiastic swing down the various levels, snapping and singing all the while. Even after he’d found the last core, he waited to finish his song before going back to Level 9. 

And, unbeknownst to him, Henry and Buddy had seen and heard the whole thing. Henry had heard him humming and stopped in his ink errand to grab Buddy. By the time they came back, Sammy was full-swing into his music. They stayed out of sight as he searched for the final power core, which he ended up having to kill a Striker for. 

When he went back up a level to finish his song, Henry collected the last of the ink they needed and couldn’t help but smile at Buddy. “Remember what you’ve seen, Buddy,” he said, “ _ That _ was Sammy Lawrence.” 

Buddy tilted his head with an expression for him to keep going. 

“Yeah, he was like that constantly! He always had a rhythm tapping through his foot or was humming a new tune. There was no head lyricist because he didn’t need one! He could craft perfect lyrics like  _ that _ !” Henry snapped his fingers on the final word. “The music department was the liveliest place in the studio. Joey sometimes had to tell them to keep it down, but then got caught up in the work as well! I almost missed a few deadlines because I wanted to see what magic my friend was effortlessly conjuring up there.” 

Henry chuckled and sighed with nostalgia, “Sammy had a passion for his music no other human ever had. All he needed was an outlet, and my little devil darling gave it to him. It was like he could see the future and exactly what each flick needed. There was once, we didn’t even know the  _ title _ of the cartoon yet and he already had its perfect tune half-done! Ahh, you should have seen him work his magic; it was astounding what that man could create with sound.” 

His smile dropped slightly when he caught Buddy’s excited gaze, “I’m… sorry you never got to see that side of him. The ink seems to pride itself on leeching the best out of people.” 

Buddy gave him a reassuring look, making Henry’s smile return, “But there’s hope,” he nodded. 

The two stepped into the elevator. Henry’s finger moved for Level 9’s button, then paused. A few moments of stillness, and he clicked the button for the top floor. 

Buddy tilted his head; did Henry forget something? 

The gates opened and Henry stepped out. Buddy tried to follow him. 

“No, stay here, Buddy,” Henry said with a raised hand, “I… just need to go see something. Don’t leave the elevator.” 

It was about the most vague and nonreassuring excuse Buddy had heard, but he nodded and obeyed. 

“Oh,” the man handed him the syringe full of ink, “keep an eye on this?” 

Buddy took it and nodded again. He glanced at the sharp implement and carefully set it on the floor. By the time he looked back up, Henry was out of sight. 

Henry internally sighed. He had to ‘see something’? Seriously? Of all the excuses, he settled on that one? 

Well, Buddy obeyed, regardless. That was the important thing. Hopefully Sammy would still be too busy to look for him and tell him how stupid this idea was. 

Because it was stupid. Bendy had really been staying on top of him and his wandering. Especially after the chase from the Music Studio. 

So the whole idea he could get Bendy’s attention and try to talk to him was risky and stupid. 

Then again, if he was going to change something, he was willing to take some risks. Especially if he wanted to save Buddy. 

He was serious about keeping his vow to keep Buddy alive, even if it took years of cycles to figure out how. 

But he did want to at least try to get help. And the worst answer he could get was a “no.” 

Right?

A Wanderer popped up. Henry flinched, but kept moving. Another cutout materialized, hissing loudly. Again, Henry pushed past it. Three cutouts, blocking his way. The man shoved them down and walked over them. 

He got down to the end of a hall with no more interventions, then, when the hall opened into a room, a ring of Wanderers spawned, hissing, quivering, and closing in. 

Henry finally stopped. 

“Where ya goin’, old pal?” 

Henry’s teeth clenched; the edge in Bendy’s voice sent a literal shiver down his spine. 

“I asked ya a question.” 

No sight of the little devil himself, so Henry focused his gaze on the skewed floorboard under a Wanderer’s foot. “I needed to get your attention.” 

“Yer wanderin’,” he sounded so frank, “That tends to get my attention; though not in a good way.” 

Henry focused on keeping his voice level and steady, “I realize that.” 

“Ya know what yer problem is,  _ Henry _ ?” 

The man’s fist clenched. The way Bendy said his name reminded him of-…. He shook the thought away. 

“Yer problem is that yer careless. Ya throw yerself inta danger wit’out ever lookin’ ahead. Like right now, for instance. You know the rules, yet you blatantly ignore them ta try and get a little audience.” 

“It worked.” 

“ _ Not the point! _ ” The edge fell, ever so slightly, to distress. “Yer reckless! Yer gonna get yerself killed!” 

Henry’s eyes narrowed. He voiced the question that rose in his mind, “You care?” 

All the Wanderers loudly hissed. The harsh noise made the man wince. The noise died down, and Bendy himself appeared out of a puddle. He crossed his arms at Henry and tapped his foot, scrutinizing him. 

Henry didn’t make eye contact, opting to keep his gaze on the floorboards under the devil’s feet. 

Bendy began pacing around the man. “I’ll ask again an’ I want a straight answer. What do you want?” 

Henry kept his gaze lowered, realizing this was a rare and fragile situation. “I need your help.” 

“With what?” 

“I know how this chapter ends, and I can’t let it happen anymore.” 

Bendy’s head cocked. “Meaning?” 

“Alice takes and kills someone. I’m not moving on until I know for sure he can be saved.” 

“What do I have to do with it?” 

He’s listening. Don’t pass this up. “You’re the only one she fears. If you told her to let her victim go, she’d listen.” 

“So whoever she nabs, you want me to tell her to let go?” 

“Yes.” 

“And even if I don’t, ya ain’t gonna go on until you can save him otherwise?” 

“Yes.” For sure. 

Bendy’s barking laugh made Henry flinch. “All right, old man. Oddly enough, I believe ya, so I’ll play along. Ya got yourself a deal.” 

The little devil painfully gripped Henry's hand and shook it once. He then held up one gloved finger and wagged it at him, “Buuuuuut, yer still gonna suffer fer wanderin’.” Bendy’s grin and eyes stretched wide and maniacal. 

The gloved hand gripped Henry’s so hard it made his knuckles pop out of place. The sudden pain that shot through his hand made Henry gasp. Bendy just growled and jerked the man forward, catching his arms with inky ropes and hauling him back up to his feet with his arms outspread. 

Bendy clones sprang from the Wanderers. They began circling and taunting Henry, laughing maniacally all the while. One by one, they blinked and turned their eyes off-model. 

Henry struggled with the ropes around his arms, but the more he pulled, the farther they writhed up his limbs. They also kept crushing his broken hand, sending stabbing pains up to his head with every beat of his pulse. 

And the Bendys kept up their terrifying dance. Then, one of them suddenly jumped up and thrust at Henry’s exposed chest with a sharp pipe. It split his ribs, piercing straight through his heart. 

Henry coughed and gasped. Blood trickled over his tongue. 

The pain hardly registered. He just stared at Bendy with tears in his eyes. 

Bendy’s off-model eyes shrunk even more and the edges of his smile fell. He pulled out the weapon and, with a wet pop, all evidence of Bendy’s presence vanished into droplets of ink. 

With nothing to hold him up, Henry thumped to his knees. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t see. 

His blood traced a crimson river over his chest and hands with no hope of being stemmed. 

His vision tunneled. His hands felt cold. 

He heard a distant, anguished wail. 

Was it his? 

The room tilted. His head hit the floor. He didn’t have the strength to move. 

Was someone calling his name? 

He let his eyes close and shivered. 

Cold. 

Dark. 

The pain faded with everything else. 

Something was still saying his name. Something else cradled his back. 

He let himself sink lower. 

Lower. 

Into the abyss. 

Then weightless. 

Henry opened his eyes and found the light, willing himself down the swirling tunnel. He reached for it. 

White. 

Then black. 

Henry’s eyes shot open. He opened his mouth and for a terrifying moment, was afraid no air was going to go in. The first gasp disproved it, and subsequent gasps yielded more air. Henry gripped his chest, relieved no warm blood met his fingers. He panted a few times, trying to coax his pulse down to a temperate pace. 

So, apparently resurrections  _ did  _ work. 

He sighed deeply and looked to the hall. Standing in its entrance, he stared down a Wanderer several paces away. 

Images of its beady eyes close to his face and a sickening crunch splitting through his body prompted him to clench his fists. His teeth clenched as tears threatened his eyes. “You’ve made your point,” he muttered, turning away and striding toward the stairs. 

He didn’t see one of its eyes turn on-model and leak a drop of ink. 

Henry was just a few steps from the top of the stairs when he was halted by Sammy sprinting up them. 

The inkling stopped short with a sharp gasp. His gold eyes stretched wide with his dropping jaw. 

“Uh, hi,” said Henry hesitantly, “do… you need help wi- hey!” 

Sammy rushed forward and grabbed Henry in a desperate hug. 

“Sammy? Are you oka-!” 

Sammy roughly pulled away, gripped the front of Henry’s shirt with one hand, then cracked him across the jaw with the other. 

Henry staggered, catching himself on the rail. 

“ _You_ **_DIED!!!_** ” Sammy shrieked. 

... Oh. 

Henry’s heart sank. His fingernails dug into the rough wood. Behind him, he could hear Sammy huff and turn away. Henry’s gaze turned just enough to watch the inkling cover his mouth for a moment, then wheel back on him. 

“What were you trying to do?! I saw that cutout, Henry. He warned you but like a total  _ idiot _ you kept going! For what?! Cuz you could?!”

Henry couldn’t hold Sammy’s furious gaze.

“He _killed_ you for it!” Sammy exhaled sharply. “I found you. I... _held_ you and could do nothing but _watch_ as my _best friend_ and _last hope_ bled out and _died_! I-...” his voice faltered. He took another moment to breathe, during which Henry turned to face him, but kept one hand clenched around the rail.

“...Y-you can’t  _ do _ that to a person, Henry!” Sammy coughed, “Especially not in a place like this, where hope is a glass cannon; it’s so very powerful but so easily  _ shattered _ .” Again his voice broke. He inhaled shakily, staring through his hands and failing to stifle a sob. 

Henry’s head lowered. He spoke, his voice whispery and cracked. “You’re right. It was stupid. I was testing limits that I already knew and ignored the warnings. And you… you had to see the consequences. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Sammy said nothing, just staring at Henry. He turned away. Henry heard him breathe slowly, the sound still stuttered by stemmed sobs. He balled a fist and roughly wiped his eyes, “Let’s just… get back to that crazy angel,” he muttered, marching back down the stairs to the elevator. 

Henry followed, his heart heavy. 

What had he done? 

He’d seen a man die before, lying prone on shrapnel-covered ground, dirt turning a coppery mud from a river of lifeblood….

He wouldn’t have wished that image on anyone. 

So why did he just give it to his best friend? 

The elevator clanked and groaned as it lowered, but its three occupants were silent. Sammy sat on one end, continuing to stare through his hands and rub his palms. Henry stood on the other end, his gaze on the middle distance. 

Buddy stood in the middle, glancing between the man and inkling. Neither of them explained what happened or even looked him in the eye, but he guessed it had something to do with the blip he’d just felt. 

Henry had said those were triggered when he- … when he d- … 

That dumb wolf wouldn’t even let him finish the thought. Buddy’s ears flattened slightly.  _ That _ happened to Henry and the blip brought him back. 

Then why did Sammy keep looking at his hands like he was afraid of them? Did something get on them? 

Buddy’s eyes widened slightly. 

Did Sammy… see when Henry… 

Oh, stars. 

Was his blood on his hands? 

Thoughts were interrupted by the sudden stop of the elevator. Alice’s voice sang over the speakers.  _ “There was a time when people knew my name. ‘It’s Alice Angel!’ they’d say! Feels like so long ago. But those days can come back. Dreams come true, boys. Dreams come true.” _

Sammy shook his head and marched up to the angel’s door. He deposited the power cores, stepping aside to let Henry give the ink he’d collected. 

_ “Just two more things to do, my little errand boys,” _ Alice sang,  _ “You’ve seen those grinning demons? How about we have the Prophet cut down those graven images? I’ve got just the tool to make this even more enjoyable.” _

“I’m not the Prophet!” Sammy barked. Alice just laughed at him as she delivered the axe. Sammy took it with a huff and proceeded to stomp off. 

Henry lifted a hand to him, “You’ll want to keep a miracle station nearby when you’re done.” 

“Whatever,” Sammy growled. 


	20. Searchlight

_ “Oh, I hate leaving work unfinished! Fortunately, I have you to pick up the pieces. But you’ll have to go even deeper. Down, down, down into the abyss. Take the lift down. Say hello to an old friend.” _

Even though she offered the gun, Henry walked away from it. Now that he knew for sure the Projectionist was in fact his old friend Norman, the thought of shooting him down made him sick. 

All the way down the elevator shaft, Henry tried to think of ways in past cycles he was able to talk or get a sane action or word from Norman. 

He couldn’t think of anything. Just directions around ink-flooded mazes and painful times he was caught. The Projectionist always went for the heart. 

Well, the directions would be helpful to navigate without being seen. 

The elevator stopped and its gates opened. Henry took two steps, startled when Buddy grabbed his shoulder. He looked the wolf in the pie-cut eyes. “I’ll be okay, Buddy. I know my way around.”

Buddy let out a whine. 

Henry patted his hand, “Really, Buddy, I’ll be all right. Norman won’t come up here, so you’ll be safe.” 

No, Henry had it all wrong. Buddy wasn’t concerned about him, he wanted to know if he and Sammy would be okay. Sammy seemed really mad about...  _ that _ . And Henry seemed upset about it too. 

The toon just watched Henry descend the stairs and heard his feet sloshing into the ink.  _ He’ll be fine, _ Buddy assured the wolf in his head more than himself,  _ Henry knows how to do this. Even if he didn’t, he could blip back, right? _ The wolf in his head curled up, hating the thought of Henry, or any of his only friends, dying. Buddy fought to keep his back straight. Every time the scared wolf acted in fear, Buddy’s delicate hold over the body became strained. 

He hated it. He hated having to share his thoughts with this terrified cartoon. He hated not having full command over his actions. He hated being afraid all the time. 

Sometimes, he just wanted Boris gone. That wolf had been nothing but a handicap. He didn’t try to hide his anger toward the toon; he couldn’t have if he wanted to. 

It had been almost thirty minutes since Henry left when the Projectionist shrieked in the distance. The eerie sound echoed from the dark tunnels and made Buddy’s ink run cold. His keen ears picked up some splashing footsteps. They lasted a tense few seconds, then stopped. The Projectionist screamed again. 

Buddy stepped to the edge of the elevator. Was that a good sound? Or had Henry been caught? Should he go check? Buddy managed to get himself out of the elevator and to the top of the stairs, but Boris stopped him as soon as he tried to step down them. 

The ink was too deep, the halls too dark, the Projectionist too dangerous- 

_ Shut up! _ Buddy’s mental order leaked out, making his fists clench and his lips curl back in a growl. 

Buddy tried to move. Boris held back. This frustrating tug-of-war went on for a good minute. 

“Buddy!” 

Henry’s voice sounded distant and panicked. “Buddy!” he called again. 

Boris went into a flurry of frightened pulling; whatever had Henry frightened couldn’t have been safe. 

“Buddy!” 

Closer this time. Buddy started hearing two pairs of running footsteps. 

Boris still wouldn’t let him move. 

“Buddy! Get in the lift!” Light shone from one of the hallways, a human-shaped shadow running away from it. 

Now Boris wanted to move. Buddy slowly let him, though kept watching the approaching light. 

Without warning, the light lunged forward and the shadow plunged downward. One pair of the footsteps turned into a heavy splash. Then staticky clicking and a strangled yell. “Norman! Please, don’t-  _ augh! _ \- No! Get off of- me!” 

The light reared back with a pained screech. The footsteps picked up again, and Henry rounded the corner, making a beeline for the stairs. He frantically waved at Buddy, “Get in! Close the gate!” 

Buddy was more than willing to obey. He jammed the button to close the gate before Henry got there, forcing the man to slide through sideways. He made it, though, that was the good thing. 

The elevator began to rise. 

The Projectionist shrieked again. It was far too close. The machine-headed inkling prowled up the stairs and ran for the elevator. 

Buddy’s eyes turned blank. 

The Projectionist’s clawed hand raked across the bottom of the elevator, making the whole rickety contraption shudder. It didn’t stop, thankfully, continuing to rise away from danger and the Projectionist’s furious screeching. 

Henry sighed deeply, leaning against the wall and using his gold ink to rub away a hand-shaped ink stain around his throat and shoulders. 

And yet, Buddy stood very still. His eyes were whited-out circles. 

_ That _ was Norman? 

He couldn’t believe it. The first man he’d met in the studio with the strange sense of humor, the one who had warned him of the ink, the one who tried to warn him and Dot about the Demon…. 

Norman Polk. 

Buddy felt a sick knot in his stomach. 

Norman had been claimed by the ink. The very ink he’d warned Buddy about. 

The very ink they were now both trapped in. 

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. “Buddy? You all right?” Henry’s voice sounded rough. Buddy didn’t move, he just kept staring into the air. 

Henry sighed, realizing that was probably the first time Buddy had seen Norman since he was inked. And, at least according to Buddy’s book, he and Norman had a mutually friendly relationship; Norman had even looked out for the boy when the Ink Demon came into play. “I-... I’m sorry you had to see that, Buddy. I know Norman did a lot for you and Dot.” 

Buddy’s head turned away. His shoulders sank. 

Henry hated seeing him like this. The frightened wolf was a sad thing to watch. “If… if it makes you feel any better, he hesitated when I said his name.” 

Buddy’s ears perked slightly. 

“And I also know we’ll run into him again. Maybe I was wrong about him being too far gone. We can hope he can be brought to his senses, right?” 

Buddy had his doubts. But… it was a nice thought. He hadn’t had much to hope for, anyway. Even Boris seemed to want to hope that Norman could be saved. Buddy’s eyes returned to normal and he gave Henry a slight smile. 

_ “Tell me,” _ Alice’s voice crackled over the speakers,  _ “were they still writhing in your hands? Ah, hahaha! Oh dear, I hope the Prophet can stay alive long enough to see the job done!” _

Henry’s face suddenly turned a kind of concerned rage. “What happened to him?” he demanded. 

The elevator stopped on Level 9.  _ “Oh, you know,” _ the angle purred,  _ “he displeased his master and didn’t quite get to his little hiding place in time. Then you took so long, he came back here to wait for you. Unfortunately, those disgusting wretches saw him as easy prey. He’s in that funny little box.” _

Henry was already halfway up the stairs to the angel’s door when she mentioned that. He dumped the bag of ink hearts and practically sprinted to the Miracle Station at the other side of the room, yanking it open. 

Sammy fell out of it like a sack of flour. He was saved from hitting the floor by Henry, who managed to catch him on the way down. The inkling’s eyes shot open in a panic and he tried to push Henry away. 

“Sammy, hey!” Henry let Sammy to the floor and held his flailing wrists. “Calm down, it’s me!”

That seemed to get his attention, as Sammy stopped fighting once he recognized the friendly face over him. “H-Henry? Wha-  _ augh _ !” He curled up on his side, clutching a wound over his ribs. 

“Easy, easy,” Henry said, “Let me see that.” 

Slowly, Sammy uncurled enough to lift his hands. Dread settled in Henry’s stomach. It looked like he’d been axed in the side, and Henry started to notice the other wounds: smaller cuts along his arms, bruise-like dents in his legs, and his left ankle looked very broken. 

Henry couldn’t hold back a gasp, “What… happened to you?” 

Sammy groaned. 

Henry shook his head and muttered a curse. He’d had medic training in the army, but he had no supplies with him. And that axe wound was not about to stop bleeding, even if it was cold, runny ink instead of blood. “I-... I don’t know what to do. Didn’t you mention wounded ink seals itself up?” 

“Y-you s-said yourself,” Sammy gasped, “my h-humanity’s starting to show. I think that makes the inky perks a bit less ef-fective.” 

Henry’s hands clenched a few times. Wait. His hands. Could he do something with his ink? But, when he’d grabbed Norman’s arm with it earlier, it acted like acid. 

Then again, the stuff did seem to react to his mental state. And in that moment, he intended to do harm. 

Would it react differently if he intended to  _ heal _ ? 

“Okay,” he lit up his hands and held them over Sammy’s side, “I’m going to try something. I have no idea if this will work.” 

“I hate shots in the dark,” Sammy whined. 

“Yeah, I know. But there’s either this or bleeding out.” 

“I can’t find appeal in either option.” 

“All right, enough with the philosophy. Try to hold still.” Henry carefully laid his fingers on the jet-black skin to the sides of the wound. 

Sammy flinched, “Warm,” he muttered. 

Henry took it as a good sign. Slowly and gently, he pinched the edges of the wound together and used the gold ink to smooth it over. 

Sammy cringed. He needed something to distract him. “What happened?” Henry asked again. 

“Uh, Bendy showed up after-  _ hnn- _ I was done with the cutouts and… I tried to run but he surrounded me-... took the axe outta my hand and… said something, and got… got me really good.” He grit his teeth and tensed as a wave of pain racked his senses. It passed, and he kept talking, “I… think I passed out for a bit, then came back here to wait for you. But the…  _ ghah… _ the Gang found me. There were too many of them, and they overwhelmed me. I think a Striker got my foot. Or, maybe it was a Piper.” He tried to laugh, but only succeeded in letting tears spill over his pained face, “I beat them back long enough to shut myself in there. I think I p-passed out again.” 

The ends of the wounds were sealed up, but the middle wouldn’t close without ink to seal over. Henry willed the gold stuff to drip off his fingers. 

It obeyed, filling in the inky flesh which easily closed up the rest of the wound. 

Sammy visibly relaxed. He looked up and propped up on his elbows. Henry helped him turn and lean against the wall. The inkling brushed his fingers over where the wound was. “That was your gold ink?”

Henry nodded. 

Sammy’s brow rose, “Good stuff.” He then glanced up behind Henry, “Oh, h-hey, Buddy.”

Buddy waved. Henry also greeted him as the toon crouched beside the injured inkling. He produced a can of soup and handed it to Sammy. Sammy made quick work of emptying it, which helped distract him again while Henry tried to straighten out his ankle. He was working on a second can when Alice barked over the speakers.  _ “I don’t appreciate being left without my pieces for so long.” _

Henry snarled under his breath, “Wait a bit longer, you ungrateful-,” he stopped, swallowing the name he wanted to call her. 

“I’ll be fine,” Sammy waved him off, “go finish the job. You can finish with me once we’re out of here.” 

Henry shook his head, “No, that’s not how-  _ BUDDY _ !” 

The wolf jumped. He was on the top step to Alice’s door, the bag of hearts in hand. 

“Henry, wha-?” Sammy watched Henry stand up and rush for the toon, yanking him back down the stairs. 

“Get away from her!” 

With help from the wall, Sammy managed to stand, “Henry, what’s gotten into you?” he demanded, “Buddy wasn’t doing anything wrong!” 

The speakers crackled,  _ “Mhm, he was trying to do the job you didn’t want to.” _

“You don’t get it!” Henry barked. He glanced to the door, then lowered his voice, “She can’t get near Buddy, you understand?” 

“What are you talking about?” asked Sammy. 

“Just-! She can’t. She can’t take him. Not again.” 

Sammy and Buddy gave each other the same worried expression. ‘Again’? Alice hadn’t touched any of them, what ‘again’ did he mean? 

Remembering the morgue of Boris corpses gave Sammy a sense of foreboding. Is that what he meant? Did Alice do that to Buddy in the other cycles? 

When? How? Had Henry ever successfully saved him? 

The man brushed past the two of them, back toward the elevator. 

_ “Seems like we’ve reached the end of my little to-do list, my little errand boys. I hope you enjoyed our time together. I’ll always treasure it. Return to the lift. It’s time to go home.” _

Judging by the scowl on Henry’s face, Alice didn’t intend to send them ‘home’. 

The elevator began to rise. The angel was silent, so Sammy figured he’d ask the question that was prodding him. “Hey, Henry? What hit you?” 

He glanced up at Sammy, confusion written on his face. “What?”

“Your jaw. Right side. It’s bruising.” 

Henry’s hand brushed his right cheek, wincing slightly at the contact. His brow furrowed, “You…? It happened barely an hour ago. I was going to ask if you were okay after… what happened.” 

Sammy tilted his head, “Why? What happened? Did something attack you before you went down?” 

“N-no, you…” he paused. He and Buddy shared a glance. Now Sammy was even more confused. And slightly concerned. He tilted his head forward, “I  _ what _ ?” 

_ “Have you ever wondered what heaven is like?” _ Alice’s voice leaked from the speakers once more. _ “I like to dream that it is quite beautiful. A soft valley of green grass, blanketed by a warm sun. I don’t think I’ll ever get to see it. Are you ready to ascend, my little errand boys? The heavens are waiting.” _

Henry growled slightly, “Forget it. Sammy, if you’re awake before I am, you have to promise me she won’t get Buddy.” 

“Awake? From what?”

“Just promise me!” 

The desperation in Henry’s eyes made Sammy nod in agreement, despite his cluelessness. The whole past hour felt like a haze. Maybe he’d spaced out and missed something. 

Then Alice started crying over the speakers.  _ “Eh...heh...heh...eh...eh heheheheheh… ahhahahahah  _ AHAHAHAH _!  _ AHHHH HAHAHAHA _!” _

Sammy’s stomach lurched into his throat as the elevator jolted and plummeted downward. 

Henry gripped the wall with one hand and Buddy’s arm with the other. 

“DID YOU REALLY THINK I’D LET YOU HIDE FROM ME! DID YOU REALLY THINK I’D JUST LET YOU GO!?  _ NO _ , HENRY! I  _ KNOW  _ WHO YOU ARE! AND I KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE!”

Henry’s eyes widened in fear. 

“AND YOU  _ WILL NOT KEEP ME FROM WHAT I DESIRE _ ! NOW COME  _ DOWN _ ! AND  _ BRING ME BACK MY CURE _ ! THAT POWER, THAT  _ INK _ ! I WANT IT. I  _ NEED  _ IT! I NEED YOUR GOLDEN HEART TO BE  _ BEAUTIFUL  _ AGAIN!”

Sammy met Henry’s horrified gaze. His expression said it all. This was new; she wasn’t after Buddy anymore. 

“DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? DON’T YOU  _ GET IT _ ?!  _ BRING IT TO ME _ ! OR BETTER YET, I’LL  _ TAKE IT _ FROM YOU!  **_ONCE. YOU’RE. DEAD!!!_ ** _ ” _

Sammy heard the crash before he felt it. A shooting pain stabbed through his legs and he blacked out. 

The throbbing in Sammy’s legs almost made him wish he could stay unconscious. Then Alice’s threat forced his eyes open. He had been thrown, or maybe dragged, from the rubble that was now the elevator. Buddy laid Henry upright against a wall and proceeded to try and shake him awake. 

Sammy rolled to his stomach, managing to get his knees under him and get a better assessment of the injured human. 

Buddy looked like he’d escaped without so much as a splinter. Though several fresh cuts oozed blood on Henry’s arms. There was a pretty bad one on his head. Red stained his shirt on his left side. He might have broken ribs. 

Sammy inched forward, “Is… he…” 

Buddy gave him a worried look. 

The both of them tensed when they heard Alice humming. 

A sense of determination spurred Sammy to grab his axe and stand to his feet. He’d have to make do with the broken ankle. 

The angel’s shadow sauntered slowly down the hall, humming creepily all the while. “Hahaha, look at you disgusting things. Trying to protect him?” she stopped in the shadow of the hall, only the disfigured side of her face visible. 

Sammy lowered his stance and gripped the axe a bit tighter. “You’re not taking my friend.” 

“Aww, how sweet. And sickening. Step aside.” She took a step forward. 

Sammy raised the axe. “Back. Off.” 

Alice sighed as if she couldn’t be bothered, “Oh, fine. In that case…” She moved in a blur. Pain shot through Sammy’s side and up into his head. He instantly dropped the axe and fell to his knees, clutching the wound in his side. 

“... I’ll take you as well.” 

Sammy glared up at her, “Y-you crazy-“

A jab across the head, and the inkling thumped to the floor, out for the count. 

“Watch that mouth, inkling. I’d  _ hate  _ to bleach it.” Alice turned to the shaking Buddy, “All right, step aside.” 

Buddy growled and stood over Henry. Alice just rolled her eyes. “Great, a loyal dog. Ah, well, nothing a good kick won’t fix.” She swifty kicked Buddy in the gut, then to the side of the head. The wolf yelped and staggered, falling against the wall and leaving Henry exposed. 

“Bad dog.” 

Alice bent over the human and shouldered him like he weighed nothing. She gathered Sammy under her arm in much the same manner. “Now stay. Or, I suppose, if you want to be a good boy, you can come fetch your masters in the haunted house.” 

She smiled and sashayed back down the hall. 

The last thing Buddy heard before succumbing to unconsciousness was a sing-song “I’ll be waiting.” 


	21. Unfounded Roller-Coaster

The first thing Henry registered was soreness. Just a dull, throbbing soreness, acute behind his eyes. He blinked them open slowly, and his stomach flipped when he realized his situation. 

He was lying, prone and shirtless, strapped down to a table by his wrists and ankles. A gag muffled any attempts at speech. To his right was a small table, on which lay a collection of crude, sharp-looking knives. And a large jar. On his left, a chain hung from the wall, attached to a pair of manacles that clamped around- 

Sammy! 

“ _ Smmph! _ ” 

The inkling shifted slightly from his limp sitting position. His hands were hung above his head and his ankle twisted at an unnatural angle. His eyes blinked open, glowing softly in the dimly lit room. “Henry? You’re awake. Good.” 

Henry’s eyes narrowed with worry. Sammy sounded tired, weak, almost. He mumbled a noise he hoped sounded inquisitive. 

Sammy thumped his head against the wall, huffing a groan, “Me? ‘m fine. ‘s not like some crazy woman slashed open my side again and did nothing to help my broken ankle.” He chuckled weakly. “W-we really got ourselves in trouble this time, h-huh, old man?” 

He sounded delirious. 

“I hope you two are comfortable.” 

Henry’s head snapped to the other side of the room, fixing the tainted angel with a defiant glare. He heard Sammy whimper. 

Alice just chuckled to herself. “I will admit, I was going to carve you both open right away, but then I won’t have a treat for that dumb dog. Or my pet.” She crouched in front of Sammy and touched a finger to his nose, “How’s a girl to decide what to do?” 

Sammy flinched as she flicked her finger. 

“Disgusting,” she mumbled, sauntering over to Henry. “As for you,” the angel mused with a finger to her lip, “I don’t care to know what you are or where you’re from. All I know is that gold heart of yours is valuable,” she walked her fingers up his chest, each “step” with each word, “And I’m gonna have fun opening my present.” She tapped his nose once, smiling evilly. 

“Susie.” 

Alice’s face turned into a grimace. She slowly turned toward Sammy. “ _ What _ did you just call me?” 

“Susie. That’s your name. S-Susie Campbell. You were Alice’s first voice actress. Y-you brought her to life for the first time.” 

Two strides, and Alice stood over Sammy, hauling him to his feet by the straps of his overalls. She hissed in his face, “Say that once more, inkling? I want to know why I’m suddenly so compelled to slit your throat.” 

Henry grunted and writhed, trying to distract her and tell Sammy not to say anything. 

Alice dumped Sammy back down, “Keep quiet!” she commanded Henry. 

Sammy straightened as best he could and stared up at Alice, “Please, S-.... You don’t have to do this. Henry’s ink could work on you without having to kill him.” 

Alice growled at Sammy but didn’t say anything. He continued, “It’s on his hands. He can help you! You don’t have to resort to murder!” 

“And what makes you say I shouldn’t?” 

“Because that’s not the Susie I loved.” 

Silence. 

Alice took a step back, those words shaking her mind. She turned and covered her face, slightly curling in on herself. 

“Susie,” Sammy’s gold eyes bent with a pleading worry, “please. I know some of you has to still be there. You’re not a murderous psychopath. You  _ are _ an angel, one whose wings were wrongfully clipped.” 

Poetic. Henry smiled under the gag. 

Alice’s hands slowly lowered and she turned toward Sammy again. Sammy took it as a sign to keep going. “Susie, I remember you were one of the very few people who could make me smile. Every time you were in my studio, the place felt brighter. Every time you sang, I felt giddy, caught up in your voice and the music.” 

Alice took a careful step toward him. 

“Your scars don’t define you. Yes, you were a lovely dame, but the looks were never the most important to me. I cared about your humanity, your soul, you as a person.” 

She crouched in front of him, a blank, unreadable expression on her face. 

Sammy smiled at her. “Susie, please believe me. Stop this. Let us go. I’m certain Henry would be willing to give you what you want.” 

Alice reached up, hovering her fingers around Sammy’s face. “Say that name again?” 

“Susie. Susie Campbe- _ AUKGHHH _ !!!” 

Henry twisted and thrashed, growling at the angel to  _ get off his friend! _

Alice had shoved one hand into Sammy’s mouth, clawing at his tongue, while the other hand gripped the front of his throat. She leaned in close to his ear, disregarding his strangled coughs and pained struggles. “You know. I almost believed you. I almost felt like that name had meaning. Then I remember I was lied to, taken advantage of, and left all alone because you suddenly had eyes on that other ‘dame’. I should have known better than to trust a friend.” 

Sammy gagged, his heels slipping on the floorboards as he tried to twist out of Alice’s merciless grip. 

“I know Henry will help me,” she whispered, “because I will make sure of it. I’ll carve him open and rip out his gold heart, very,  _ very _ slowly while you watch. And then, when your will is broken, maybe I can have you swear your loyalty to a new goddess and resume your proper, diminutive role as a servant.” 

Henry grunted and managed to pull hard enough to make the table give a loud  _ thunk _ . 

Alice paid him no mind, but let go of Sammy anyway. She let him cough and gasp a few times before seizing his face and shoving his head against the wall. “And to punish you for saying that name…” she flattened the fingers of her other hand and swiftly drove them into Sammy’s throat. 

Sammy bent over, choking and trembling. 

Alice calmly stood and clenched her fists a few times. “Wholly revolting.” 

She turned to Henry, smiling like a devil. 


	22. Knowing

Buddy’s eyes snapped open. He sat bolt upright, instantly regretting the vertigo that crashed through his head. His jaw clenched. 

_Stand up_. 

Shakily, his limbs obeyed. 

He stood against the rough wood of the broken elevator, rubbing his head and trying not to let the creeping dread sit him back down into a shivering ball. 

Oddly, it was a bit easier than usual. Buddy felt… more like himself. He held his hands up and wiggled his fingers. His senses seemed clearer. 

Boris must still be out of it. 

Fine by Buddy; the less that wolf was in the way, the better. He needed to act if he was going to save his friends. 

A shiver zipped up his spine at the memory of Alice’s sing-song voice as she dared Buddy to find Henry and Sammy. Buddy’s ears flattened; well, little did that fallen angel know he _was_ going to save them! 

He hoped. 

He shook off some of the ink drops that had fallen on him from the elevator and padded down the hall. The sign at the end pointed to the Archives on the left and Grant Cohen’s office on the right. 

Cohen? Had Buddy met him before? His name sounded… vaguely familiar. 

He shook the thought away. The Archives were probably the way to go. 

Except for the missing door handle. 

All right then, to Grant’s office it was. 

… 

Buddy had to psyche himself up to get in the room. Sure, he had seen writing on the wall before, but never in this amount in one place. 

He spotted his desired door handle. All the way in the back corner. Could these things never be in arm’s reach? 

The toon set his jaw and tiptoed into the room. Don’t look at the overturned stool, that tape probably had some finance mumbo-jumbo, don’t make eye contact with that ink puddle… 

He grabbed the handle and bolted from the room, slamming the door behind him. His fingers clenched around the metal object as he tried to get his heart back down and out of his head. 

Keep calm. Just move on. Nothing happened. 

Thankfully the handle fit and turned. 

Boris must have woken up as soon as the door opened and he spotted the giant Bendy statue. Buddy had to physically hold the doorframe to keep his legs from rushing him back to the elevator. He had an urge to curl up into a shaking ball and not move. 

_Stop it. Let go. It’s just a statue, and those Lost Ones aren’t moving. I have to save my friends. They’re counting on me._

Boris was unconvinced. 

Buddy shoved him aside and moved on anyway. 

He had to admit, the Archives were kind of nice. Felt like a library. 

He turned the Bendy cutout around. Didn’t want that smile staring at him. 

A tape? No name. Play it. 

“ _They told me-_ ”

Click. 

Nope. Don’t need to hear that voice right now. The less of that voice, the better. 

How did this door open? There was no handle, no visible keyhole, nothing. Maybe there was something in the books? 

Stand in the middle, look around. What’s different? What’s out of place? What can be a clue? 

The books. Had to be the books. 

… 

That one is sticking out. Push it in? 

Click. 

A light above the door lit up. 

So that’s how it works! Find the rest! 

Buddy’s tail was wagging by the time the door opened. That puzzle was… fun? 

Was fun allowed in a place like this? 

The next cavern full of hanging cages over a bottomless pit knocked that notion right out of consideration. Buddy dared to throw an empty soup can over the side. He didn’t hear it collide with anything, wall, floor, or otherwise. 

He resolved to stay away from the edge. Boris heartily agreed. 

Not like his opinion affected much. 

Looked like the only way across was a hanging trolley platform. 

A _broken_ hanging trolley platform. 

Well, that’s where GENT machines came in handy. 

Buddy turned the dial to a desired gear setting, swiped some ink off his arms and head, and let the resulting blob slide into the slot. 

Pull the lever, presto, a gear. 

He slid the gear into place and reached for the platform. 

Hold up. Was he really going to put his faith in this rickety contraption to get him to the other side of this potentially bottomless chasm? 

Didn’t have much choice, so yes. Yes he was. 

Buddy internally growled at Boris for making him hesitate. Didn’t keep the wolf from shivering the whole way across. 

Both of them were relieved when he reached solid ground again. 

Buddy pushed open another metal door, leading to an ominously long hallway. He had half a mind to turn around. But that half was Boris. And he wasn’t in control right now. 

Besides, the door slammed shut, so not much of a choice there. 

The fact that absolutely nothing happened the whole length of that hallway set Buddy on edge even more than if something _had_ jumped him. 

Then there were stairs. Lots of them. Buddy started climbing. 

_‘Up, kid! Right up to the dang top!’_

Buddy winced at the early memory of his first encounter with Norman. He missed the projectionist. 

That thing in the inky abyss couldn’t have been him. 

Norman couldn’t have been turned so… mindless. 

That _wasn’t_ him. 

…

Was that Boris’s fear? Or Buddy’s denial? 

“ _I see you there, little wolf. Your angel is always watching.”_

Buddy really wished she’d stop. 

_“What is it that keeps you going? The thrill of the hunt? The thirst for your freedom? Or perhaps… you’re just a lost dog looking for its master?”_

Buddy stopped. Dread sank further into his stomach. 

_“Better hurry, little wolf, or your masters will have trouble staying in one piece._ ” 

She’s scary. Run away. Go back. Can’t save- 

_Stop_! 

Stop it. Keep going. Get to them. 

The room at the top was… oddly inviting. A couple couches sat in it, and a record was playing. There was a balcony overhanging an exit door. 

Buddy was inspecting the record, recognizing Sammy’s initials under the title, when an anxious voice startled him. 

“It always finds me… oh no.” A Lost One ran across the balcony and looked over the room, apparently fleeing some unseen phantom, “I… I just want to go home. W-when do we go home? _When do we go home_?!” The poor thing sobbed and ran off. 

Buddy stepped toward the balcony, trying to get the sad creature’s attention, but it was long gone. 

Well, at least something tripped the lock on the door. Moving on, then. 

Buddy pushed the door open, once again freezing in place. At least a dozen pairs of eyes turned toward him. 

Lost Ones. 

They hadn’t ever been an outright threat, but Buddy still kept away from them if he could help it. Every time he got close to them, he heard whispers and sad pleas. It made his soul ache and ink tingle. 

The toon tiptoed into the room. The Lost didn’t move; most glanced his way before returning to staring into space or rocking on their feet. One stared at him for a good while before turning back and resuming to thunk its head against the wall. Buddy wanted to help it. He wanted to help all of them. But he knew he couldn’t. 

He simply wasn’t able. Henry was the only one whose soul could get through the ink to the trapped ones inside. 

So, reluctantly, he turned away from the sad crowd and hopped into the vent. 

Vents. Familiar territory. He felt oddly secure in the cramped spaces. Plus, they made good shortcuts. He reached for a grate. 

Bendy slammed his fists against the metal bars, “Heya, pal!” 

A strained yelp jumped from Buddy’s throat. 

“Aw, come on, buddy boy. You recognize your old playmate, right?”

Buddy backed up. 

Bendy’s brow furrowed. He seemed to be looking through Buddy’s toonish skin. “Hm. Two rights. Two lefts. Two rights. Get out quick.” His cheeky smile returned, “An’ don’t tell nobody, ‘kay?” 

The devil didn’t give Buddy time to respond, popping into ink droplets and leaving him alone in the vent. 

Buddy blinked. 

Okay. 

Well… 

Thanks, Bendy? 

Moving on. 

Left, right, right, left, left, right, freeze until those thudding footsteps pass by, right, shove the grate and hop out. 

‘Get out quick.’ 

Buddy put the grate back over the hole. 

The room he ended up in was familiar. In a way. Yes, the couches, giant Bendy statue, and the graffiti was new, but the entrance to Storage 9 was something he didn’t soon forget. 

Not since he snooped down here with-... with Dot. 

He missed her. He hoped she wasn’t among the Lost. 

He shook his head. Focus. Get Henry and Sammy back. 

The writing on the wall ordered him to COME UP AND SEE ME. Little on the nose, there, messenger? ALMOST THERE. Whoever left it must have had a thing for the grandiose. 

Buddy circled the table model of Bendyland. He clicked the tape. Bertrum’s indignant voice leaked forth, recounting the nickname he was dubbed at a certain gathering. 

Buddy remembered that party. He remembered that rooftop. He remembered hearing Joey introduce a “Bertie.” He remembered meeting a disgruntled Thomas Conner and being warned away from Joey. 

He remembered not heeding the warning. 

Like he did with Norman’s warning. 

And Dot’s.

And his grandpa’s. 

“... _Know that this grand achievement will belong to me, and to me alone_.” 

Click. 

The sound made him cringe. A coil of shame wrapped around his chest. 

He ignored so many signs. So many warnings. Nothing Joey Drew touched could be trusted, and yet he stuck around. 

And now he was just… stuck. 

But Henry. He had hope! 

Buddy’s gaze snapped to the switch on the wall. Refocus. _Keep_ focused. Get Henry back. 

He opened the door and marched through, his stride breaking just slightly at the ominous edit over the Bendyland sign. 

Well… this got bigger since the last time he was here. 

Bigger? Or just messier? 

A bit of wandering brought him to the haunted house’s door. A bit more and he found the power station. 

Great. Another switch hunt. 

He found a tape, labeled with Wally’s messy handwriting. Buddy couldn’t help his tail wagging while he listened to the janitor’s voice; Wally was nice, and something about him made Buddy convinced they were… connected…. somehow. 

Well, at least now he had a valid excuse to play the games. He made short work of the bottle toss and strongman game. The sharpshooter game took him three tries; he never had great aim. 

Doors opened. 

Research and Design first? All right. 

Huh. Awful lot of empty soup cans. Eh, take all of ‘em, why not. 

Chattering? Was that a fire burning? 

Oh. Butcher Gang. 

No! The Gang was dangerous! Find the switches another way! 

Shut. Up. You stupid. Wolf. 

The Gang is dumb. They can be snuck past. Maybe if they had something else to focus on… 

Oh, _that’s_ what the cans are for. 

Or maybe someone else here before was really hungry. 

Eh, useful anyway. 

Buddy leaned over the rail and tossed a soup can across the room. It clattered down one of the halls, sending the Gang shambling after it. 

Boris resisted all the way, and Buddy had to force his feet down the steps; it was like trying to walk with anvils strapped to his knees. He only just barely made it behind the wall of the opposite hall before the Striker poked its head around the corner. 

Buddy growled at Boris. 

Stop fighting. You’re going to get us caught and Butchered. 

I can’t do this! 

Then step back and let me. 

Buddy stepped deeper into the hall, passing by a barred-off room with a crying Lost One curled up inside. The toon crouched down beside the bars and tried to reach a hand toward it, but it was sitting just out of reach. 

Buddy tapped the bars and let out a hoarse whine. The Lost One looked up. “Do I know you?” 

Buddy had no answer. 

“No. I don’t know anyone. Don’t know… anyone.” 

Buddy whined again and reached for it, palm up. 

The Lost One curled up a bit tighter. “Thanks, but no,” it sounded like a female, “And don’t worry about the robot-...“ its- her…? Her voice broke, “it never moves.” 

She turned away and kept crying. 

Buddy sighed, but left the sorrowful being alone. 

He kept the Lost One’s words in mind as he tiptoed around the robot and pulled the switch. He didn’t recognize the name on the tape, but played it anyway. 

He didn’t notice that the Lost One stopped crying and listened while Lacie’s voice leaked around the room. 

He gave a final, passing glance at the Lost One before stepping back out toward the open room. 

The Gang had their back to him, so Buddy slipped by into the other hall without being seen. He hit the other switch easily, but something must have snapped or sparked, because next thing he knew, a loud noise rang his ears and sent the Gang his direction. 

Boris froze up, his panic overpowering Buddy’s control and curling the body up into a shivering ball, hiding his head in his hands. 

Don’t move. Don’t fight. Don’t try. Maybe they won’t hurt me. 

What are you doing?! We have weapons, you mutt! Get up and fight them or we don’t stand a chance! 

No chance. No way. I can’t. 

Buddy, or rather, an avatar of Buddy’s consciousness, yelled at the wolf and grabbed him. 

One eye opened, spotting the Piper hobbling toward him with a raised wrench. The Fisher and Striker bumbled along behind. 

For heaven’s sake, _move_! 

The toon’s body swiveled sideways, narrowly dodging the Piper’s swing. He bounced on his toes, not quite dodging the Striker’s, well, strike. He caught it full-force in the flank, the blow knocking a yelp from him. 

The Fisher was blocking the doorway. 

All right, that’s it. 

Buddy reached into his back pocket and grabbed the first solid object he felt, which turned out to be a length of rebar. He made short work of clocking the disfigured trio to the ground, running out as fast as his cramping side and resisting mental passenger would let him. 

He fell to his knees a few paces from the door. His focus turned inward. 

Buddy’s head swiveled to the shaking wolf crouched on the ground. “What were you thinking? Freezing up like that? You could have killed us! Your cowardice is gonna be the death of us!” 

The wolf just stared at him with blank, terrified eyes. 

Buddy set his jaw. “Just stay there, all right? Don’t come under the light.” 

Buddy’s eyes blinked open. That should buy him a bit of time. He had little doubt the next time something jumped him, the wolf would be reaching for the light again. 

He stood and started following the power cable to the station. 

Had he ever explained his split control to Henry? It was all rather metaphysical and complicated. 

It was like a dark room with a single spotlight shining down that made a pie-cut circle on the floor. Whoever was in the circle controlled the body. The circle was only big enough for one mind, meaning if the other wanted control, it only had to get some part inside for the body to react. 

The toon and human mind had struggled for control before, but never to this extent. Probably because, before they had hope, they both had taken every measure possible to stay out of trouble. Their shared caution and despair united them in a way. 

But now they had hope. The problem was, they reacted differently. 

Buddy wanted to fight to hold onto it. 

Boris was so afraid he’d lose it again, he didn’t want to do anything. 

It really didn’t help their mission to save Henry and Sammy. 

A fact that might have been what brought Buddy’s hand down on the switches a bit harder than necessary. 

He heard the click of a door nearby, leading to another storage warehouse. This one housed a complete carnival ride, one of the spinny ones with raisable arms. What was it called? A squid ride? No, that wasn’t right.

Buddy shook the thought away. Focus. Find the switch. 

It wouldn’t happen to be behind that shuttered door, would it? 

Great. Another puzzle? 

Why was everything opened with puzzles and riddles? Mister Drew didn’t seem particularly fond of the things. 

Maybe he made exceptions when tormenting former coworkers was involved. 

Buddy found a tape on a table, labeled again with Bertrum’s name. He missed some of the first bit from taking in the ride itself, tuning back in after realizing something he says might have a clue. 

“But then... oh Mister Drew. For all your talk of dreams, you are the true architect behind so many nightmares. I built this park. It was to be a masterpiece! _My_ masterpiece! And now you think you can just throw me out? Trample me to the dust and forget me?! No! This is _my_ park! _My_ glory! You may think I’ve gone, but _I’m still here!!!_ ” 

The voice bellowed loudly around the room, far louder than possible through any speaker. 

Suddenly, the ride came to life. Literally. Lights blinked on, the arms lifted and spun on their own, but most disturbing was the doors in the center opening to reveal a bloated, disembodied head. 

Buddy only snapped out of his shock when one of the carts slammed into the ground not inches away from him. He yelped and fell backwards, scrambling away from the possessed machine and trying to make himself as flat as possible against the wall. 

What the-...! Bertrum was-...! But... how?! 

Was he seriously going to have to _fight_ a whole carnival ride? 

An axe lay in the rubble of the table. Buddy dove for it and scooped it up. 

Apparently he _was_ going to fight a carnival ride. 

Somehow. 

He certainly needed to do something about those flailing arms. Look for an opening… 

There! One of them fell! Buddy rushed over, knocking off the bolts holding a joint together. He didn’t quite get out of the way in time and got flung off the arm, though not hard enough to really hurt. 

Buddy stood and gripped his axe, now having a strategy. He kept watch on the one arm he damaged and waited for it to fall again. 

Wait. A bit longer. 

Now! 

He sprang forward, hacking off the rest of the bolts and giving the arm a solid whack for good measure. 

The arm fell into pieces almost immediately. One down, two to go. 

Even Boris wasn’t resisting as hard. The wolf must either be too scared or realized Buddy could handle it. 

It was… probably the former. 

The second arm crashed down and Buddy jumped for it. He got two bolts off, but the arm lifted up sooner than he could get out of swing range. 

Next thing Buddy knew, he was face-down on some splintered crates, throbbing pain shooting through his arm. 

What happened? Did he black out? How’d he get over here? 

An image of a cart slamming into his side reminded him. 

Right. He got hit. 

Really hard. 

Buddy tumbled out of the splintery mess. Thankfully his legs were still working, but his side and right arm were a different story. 

He didn’t think his toony arms could break, per se, as he didn’t exactly have proper bones, but boy howdy could this have been equivalent. 

Good thing toons healed up quickly. 

Buddy clenched his jaw. He couldn’t give up! 

Though he could stand to wait a few minutes until he could use his arm again. Yeah, that was probably smart. 

He ducked behind some crates a safe distance from the flailing ride and started to gently massage his arm, encouraging the throbbing to ease up. 

_“Whhhheeeeeerrrrrreeee…”_

Buddy tensed. Did the ride just… talk? He peeked around the crates. The remaining arms spun erratically in jerking motions, and the head swiveled around inside its container. Was it looking for him? 

“ _Sssstiiiiiiiiilllllll heeeeerrrrrrreeeee!!”_

Both arms fell to the ground. 

The ride continued to make awful groaning sounds, but otherwise held still. 

Perfect. 

Pushing past the ache in his arm and the resistance in his legs, Buddy sprang from his hiding place with an axe from his pocket, lopping off a second arm and three bolts on the third. 

Bertrum was not happy. The head snapped toward Buddy and let out a _roar_. 

Boris dropped the axe. 

He overpowered Buddy and dropped the axe. 

Then he stood there, frozen in abject terror. 

Buddy hardly had time to think of an appropriate reaction before the last arm crashed into him. 

The arm had swung all the way around, striking the toon in the back with enough force to break off the last bolt. 

Both toon and arm went flying. 

Buddy saw his own ink splatter the metal beam, then the wall he slammed into before he plunged into darkness.


	23. Believing

Buddy came around in his own head. He sat up, realizing he was outside the circle. 

In it stood Boris. 

He looked… blank. 

Just blank. 

Perhaps a little helpless. 

Didn’t make Buddy any less angry at him. He stood up and swore at the wolf, “What was that? Why did you do that?! Do you not understand that could have killed us?!” 

The wolf didn’t respond. 

Buddy grabbed him by the straps of his overalls and yanked him bodily out of the circle. He could feel their shared body go even more limp. Buddy glared Boris down, “Your inaction is going to get us sent back to the puddles; so stop fighting me.” 

The human stepped under the light.

Pain. Everything hurt. 

Buddy forced an eye open. He had to see how badly he was injured. 

Everything was blurry and unfocused. He could make out his own arm draped over something solid, could move it if he focused. 

Everything hurt. 

He shut his eye again, but resolved to stay awake. Focus on something. 

Not the pain, that won’t help. 

Something positive. 

He beat the ride. 

... 

The ride beat him. 

He survived. He survived, so he could keep going. 

Could save Henry and Sammy. 

He had hope. 

Buddy opened his eyes again. 

He wasn’t dead… but he kind of felt like it. 

Everything… really hurt. 

Something very heavy pressed down across his upper back. 

The ride’s last arm had crashed against the same wall Buddy had been slammed into, the dented metal falling on top of him and pinning him to the floor when it fell. Ink oozed from shallow wounds on Buddy’s head and shoulders. 

Slowly, carefully, Buddy was able to slide out from under the rubble and flop down a few paces away. 

Don’t fall asleep. Don’t have time. 

Get-... get up. 

One arm. The other. Shoulders, chest, stomach. 

Stars, everything hurt. 

Knees. Pull them up. Okay, just... sit for a second. 

Try not to pass out.

Arms are shaking. Ears ringing. Shoulders really hurt. 

Don’t pass out. 

Don’t. Pass. Out. Stay awake. 

Octopus. 

What?

The ride. It’s called an octopus ride. 

Why is that important? 

Well, head’s clearer now. 

An octopus. 

Just... fought... a possessed... octopus ride. 

That’s... kind of absurd. 

It’s fine. It’s Joey Drew Studios. Everything’s absurd. 

Like still sitting here. 

Move. Get up. One foot. The other. 

Standing now. 

There’s still a switch to find. 

Okay. Need to find it. 

Don’t pass out. 

See it. Need to walk over to it. 

Walk. 

Right. 

Just... lift one foot. Forward. Down. 

An average walk cycle. 

Contact. Down. Pass. Up. 

Hit the switch. 

Three down. One to go. 

By the time Buddy had limped to the power station, the sting from his wounds had dulled to a sore ache. He doubted he’d be able to survive being a punching bag again, but he could deal with a Searcher and get in one solid hit on something bigger if he needed to. 

Hopefully he wouldn’t need to. 

One more switch. 

Through a large steel door. Side-eye a Miracle Station. 

“Buddy Boris Express”? 

Cruel sense of humor, Mister Drew. 

Scent of ink. A lot of it. 

Descending stairs. Floor covered in ink. 

Top step. 

A screech. 

Freeze. 

A light. Moving. Heavy footsteps. Coming closer. 

A large body. A mechanical head. A flickering light. 

The Projectionist. 

What... was he doing here? 

Run. 

No. 

He knew this would happen. Henry had said they’d run into the Projectionist again. 

Though he wasn’t betting on being alone. 

What was it Alice said? “Stay out of his light?” 

He could do that. 

No, the ink was too deep, it was too dark down there, the Projectionist even scared  _ Henry _ , can’t-. 

Buddy’s fist thumped against the wall. Be quiet. 

He took a deep breath and padded down the stairs. He had to believe he could do this. 

He stepped one foot into the ink. 

Boris pulled back out. The Projectionist would kill them!

Not if it didn’t find them. 

Can’t! Can’t do it! 

Buddy forced himself into the flooded room. He darted behind one of the train engines, keeping in the shadows until the Projectionist passed by. Carefully, he crept from his hiding place and tried to match step behind the inkling in an effort to mask his presence. 

It seemed to work. He wasn’t noticed. 

A lowered pallet blocked off the stairwell to the balcony. The lever for it was around the edge of the room. 

Okay, just keep going. A little farther. Got it! 

The Projectionist noticed, his light blinding Buddy for a moment before a metallic screech filled the room and heavy footsteps started thudding toward him. 

Buddy ran. He bypassed the stairs to the second level, opting for the flight he’d come down. Clambering to the top, he turned down the hall, only to find the metal door had been shut. 

The Projectionist was getting very close. 

The Miracle Station! Buddy rushed to it, having just grabbed the door handle, before he leaped out of the way of the charging Projectionist. The inkling smashed through the Station, reducing it to useless slats under his weight. 

Buddy dashed back down the stairs, through the ink, and up to the second level, pressing himself into a corner to make himself as small and quiet as possible. 

It sounded like the Projectionist had only just recovered himself by the time Buddy was hidden. The mindless thing screeched in indignation, but disregarded the second floor in his efforts to find the intruder, eventually resuming to pace around the flooded room below. 

Meanwhile, Boris plain wouldn’t move. Despite Buddy’s protests and reasonings the switch that was literally ten paces away could open the door and let them out, the wolf wouldn’t budge. 

Come on! You know it’s right there! 

No. Can’t do it. 

You’d rather die? 

Can’t. Can’t save them. Can’t move. 

Why not!? 

Can’t believe. 

No! 

Buddy jerked the both of them out of the circle. He promptly wheeled on the wolf. “STOP IT!!! Just stop it! You’re so worried about our friends dying? Well I can guarantee that if you keep stopping me, they  _ will! _ ” The boy’s shoulders tensed in frustration, “Why can’t you  _ understand?! _ You’re stuck in a cycle  _ you’ve _ put yourself in! You’re afraid something will happen, you don’t do anything because you’re afraid you can’t, then when what you feared does happen, it scares you into not doing anything else!” 

Buddy snarled at the wolf, “It’s obvious  _ you _ won’t be brave,” he pointed at himself, “but I  _ want _ to do something, you understand?! I  _ want _ to be brave and save my friends! But I  _ can’t! _ Because of  _ you! _ ” 

The human’s expression turned desperate, “This studio took everything from me; my friends, my family, my identity, my  _ life _ . But for the first time in  _ years _ it’s giving us a chance at hope. But we can’t have it because you keep getting in your own way! Why are you too afraid to hope?” Buddy demanded, “And why do  _ I _ have to suffer for that? 

“Wh-why can’t you understand?” his voice cracked, “Why can’t-... I don’t know how to get it through your  _ one-track, block-headed _ skull that you’re dooming us and my friends to death with your stubborn refusal to believe in a bit of bravery.” Tears started spilling over Buddy’s cheeks, “You might be okay with leaving them behind, but I’m not! I can’t…” he sobbed, “I can’t leave anyone behind again...” 

Then the fiery anger went out of Buddy, leaving him hugging himself as he continued to cry. “I don’t want to leave them behind. They’re my only hope of freedom. But you’re tearing all that away! It’s not fair...” He crouched down, hands curling through his hair. 

There was a long stretch of nothing being said, the only sounds were Buddy’s cries. 

“...  _ You’re right _ .” 

Buddy’s head snapped up. Boris was now standing up, looking quite sheepish. “What?” Buddy asked. 

“ _ I said you’re right. I can’t be brave and it’s not fair. Not to you or your friends. _ ” 

Boris was talking? He never talked! 

“ _ I’ve been holding you back ever since this happened to us. I knew it, but couldn’t believe it. I  _ can’t  _ believe it, _ ” the wolf glanced to Buddy, “ _ But you can believe. This whole time, you’ve been believing in your bravery to get Henry back. And you haven’t said it, but I know you want to believe you can help Norman. _ ” 

Boris’s ears drooped. He looked truly remorseful, “ _ But I can’t believe. I can just… know. And it’s not going to be enough for you to survive. _ ” 

“... ‘You’?” 

Boris started to turn and step away from the light. Buddy knew what would happen if he did and stood to stop him. “Boris, wait! Don’t do that! We can both do this!” 

Boris didn’t look back. “ _ Do you know or believe that? _ ” 

Buddy had no answer. 

“ _ I know you don’t need me, Buddy. But your friends need you, and you need them. So the best thing I can do is let you be brave. _ ” The wolf turned and gave Buddy a small smile, “ _ Give them something to believe in, okay? _ ” 

Buddy only watched in silence as Boris let himself fall away from the light and into the dark, never able to return.

Buddy woke with a start. Everything seemed fuller. Sharper. Boris was gone. It was just Buddy now. He was finally free from the toon’s mind. 

Yet for some reason, Buddy wasn’t happy about it. It was like he’d lost a part of himself. 

His eye caught the switch. 

He’d grieve the wolf later. For now, he had to make sure he wouldn’t have to grieve for Henry and Sammy. 

The switch was pulled and the lights went out. 

The Projectionist howled. 

Buddy froze, hoping the inkling below wouldn’t come up. 

Electricity buzzed overhead and light started to flicker back to life. Buddy edged around the balcony, trying to get a bearing on the Projectionist. Unfortunately, the Projectionist found him first. The inkling screeched in a sort of enraged triumph and pointed a hand up to him. 

Oh no. 

The Projectionist found the stairs and prowled up them. He locked Buddy in his light, stopping at the top of the stairs to block off the only exit, almost daring the boy to move. 

Buddy moved one way around, the Projectionist moved toward him. When Buddy backed up, the other would stray back to the stairs. 

Buddy looked over the railing. That landing would be rough. He glanced back to the light. Still fixed on him, waiting for a move. 

Buddy vaulted over the rail. He hit the ink with a hard splash that sent him to his knees, but he quickly recovered his feet and took off once more for the door. How was he going to get it open in time to escape, then closed again so he wouldn’t be followed? 

Maybe once he was out and after he found Henry, he could come back and see if the Projectionist could be brought back. 

But that all depended on if he could get the door open. He tested the valve handle, quickly discovering it would take more than the few seconds he had. 

Fight, then? 

Buddy really didn’t want to hurt him, though. 

He spotted a hefty beam from the smashed Miracle Station. 

He picked it up. 

The Projectionist reached the top of the stairs and lunged for Buddy. 

Buddy jumped aside and cracked the beam full-force against the side of the Projectionist’s head. The impact broke the beam and sent the Projectionist to the ground. 

The projector light flickered out. 

Buddy dropped the beam and rushed for the door, adrenaline making his heart pound in his ears. 

The Projectionist’s light was starting to flicker back on by the time Buddy bolted through the door, leaving him behind. 

= = =

His head hurt. 

He remembered... chasing a wanderer, but it… fought back. It was fast. Clever. Like the one that glowed. Glowed gold. Gold hands. And a gold heart. A… Gold One. 

His head still hurt. Felt like something had been knocked loose. Something… that hadn’t moved in a long time. He’d been able to project his past, but never this far. 

Never from... before. 

The reels in his brain rewound and brought to light a memory long forgotten. And with it, a name. 

_ Norman Polk _ . 

The reels turned more. Another name. 

_ Henry Stein _ . 

More names. 

_ Sammy Lawrence, Wally Franks, Susie Campbell, Allison Pendle, Thomas Connor, Buddy Lewek- _ ... 

The names paused. 

_ Buddy _ . 

That one rang different. A strange pang of… something came with it. 

Then surfaced a name that loomed over the rest. The last one he’d ever heard himself say. 

_ Joey Drew _ . 

The reels ground against each other. The remains of a voice snarled and growled. Something pulsed in his core, bringing a flood of long-lost but powerful feelings. Even those had names. 

Fear. Hatred. Sorrow. Disgust. 

_ Fury _ . 

Fury backed with a deep regret. 

He’d failed something. 

Some _ one _ . 

And that last name -  _ Joey Drew _ \- was the cause. 

Reels clacked. The speaker crackled. 

He hadn’t used his voice before. 

But  _ Joey Drew _ needed to hear it.

= = =

Buddy’s steps had slowed on his way to the power station, but now they stopped altogether. His ears perked in the air. 

That… sound. It wasn’t completely a machine. But it wasn’t human either. Something… chillingly in between. If vengeance itself could have been given a sound...

It came from the flooded room, where he’d left the Projectionist. 

A sliver of guilt poked Buddy’s heart. He’d just gotten done telling Boris he didn’t want to leave anyone behind again, and yet… 

He felt a bit hypocritical now. 

A bit of back-and-forth tipped in Buddy’s mind before he decided to at least check on him. 

The boy backtracked a while until a clatter brought him to a halt. Buddy stopped, his hands drawn up to his chest. A flicker of light to his left. His head swivelled and any noise he might have made caught in his throat. 

Norman was standing there. Staring at him. 

The projectionist slowly took a step forward. Buddy stepped back. This pattern continued until Buddy backed into a stack of crates. 

Norman stopped about three steps away. His head tilted slightly and some kind of clicking noise came from the speaker in his chest. 

Poor Buddy was trying to stop shaking. His tail was tucked between his legs, his ears laid flat against his head. He…  _ wanted _ to go back and get Norman. Why was he so afraid now? Where was the courage he had before? 

Norman took a step forward. Buddy forced himself to stay still. 

Another step. 

Now he was in arm’s reach. 

Buddy stared unblinking into the dim light of the projector. 

It whirred and clicked. Norman slowly raised a hand. The speaker crackled. 

Buddy inhaled and tensed, bracing himself for-... 

… not… that. 

Norman’s hand felt kind of wet and misshapen against his ears, but the gesture was sincere. Buddy blinked as Norman awkwardly patted his head. 

The speaker hissed.  _ “H-h-h-h-he-e-y-... kid-d-d-do.” _ The voice sounded like a broken, skipping record filtered through a static-heavy radio channel. 

But Buddy couldn’t deny it was the voice he remembered belonged to Norman. His tail wagged. 

“Well, well, well, isn’t this just a nostalgic little team-up?” Bendy smirked at them from atop a shelf. “Sorry for the interruption when yer so close ta the end, but I think you’ll want to head back to the entrance. There’s a little gift there. A…  _ courtesy _ of the angel. Might wanna hurry, though; she didn’t exactly make sure there weren’t Searchers around.” 

The little devil stood up, spun around a cane, thumped it down, struck a pose, and saluted the two. “Later!” he chirped, popping into ink droplets. 

Norman pointed at the space Bendy used to be, “ _ Was that-at-at who- I think it- was? _ ” 

Buddy nodded without thinking about it. He was more concerned about the “gift” back at the entrance. He grabbed Norman and started pulling him toward the door. 

= = = 

Henry about had enough of waking up after being knocked out. Though, coming to with the face of a relieved and friendly wolf above him was welcoming. “Buddy?” 

A little yip. Buddy helped him sit up and gently lean him against the wall, offering some soup. That seemed to be his cure-all, soup. Henry cracked open the can and emptied it swiftly. 

Once he finished, he finally noticed the projectionist standing a few paces away, silently watching. 

Henry tensed. Buddy noticed where he was looking, chuckling when he spotted the inkling. 

“Buddy?” 

The wolf smiled and pointed at the projectionist, giving a thumbs-up. 

Henry glanced back at him. “So… he’s good? He’s Norman again?” 

_ “That- I am!” _

Buddy chuckled again at Henry’s jump. “Y-you speak?” 

_ “That- I do! Little pup- whacked- some sense back- into- these old reels.” _

Henry smiled at Buddy, “You did that?” 

An affirming nod and yip. Henry laughed and rubbed Buddy between the ears, “Haha! There’s a good boy, taming inklings and saving friends!” 

Buddy’s tail wagged. 

Norman helped his old friend to his feet, looking him over from head to toe. He paused in contemplation, then came to an inarguable conclusion.  _ “Henry Stein,- you look like crap.” _

Henry gave him a ‘really?’ look. “Uh huh, good to have you back too, Polk.” 

_ “What happened- to you? The angel?” _

Henry’s brow lowered, “I... I don’t... remember. Last thing I recall was being strapped to a table with Alice about to-” he stopped himself, “Oh, s-” his hand grabbed for his chest. A slight sting of pain shot through him, and he noticed a blood stain on his shirt. He was quick to undo the buttons and check what had been done to him. A sort of relieved confusion crossed his mind at the wound. 

_ “A scratch?” _ Norman said, amused, _ “With- your exp-ression, I’d’ve thought you’d- been- stabbed.” _

Buddy slapped his arm with an accusing look. 

“She... she did. I thought she did. She almost did,” Henry rubbed his forehead, “I don’t remem-. Why would she just let me g-” his eyes widened. 

Norman crossed his arms, “ _ Would you- stop- interrupting yourself and- give a full answer?” _

Henry absentmindedly rebuttoned his shirt, looking into the middle distance, “He kept his word.” 

_ “That doesn’t- help.” _

“I struck a deal with the little devil,” Henry remarked. He kept talking despite the dumbfounded looks the two gave him, “It was when I thought she was going to take Buddy. I told Bendy I wouldn’t go further until I had found a way to save him. So, I bargained that if Bendy, the only person Alice fears, could get her to release whoever she grabs, I would move on. But I never specified to save  _ Buddy, _ meaning Bendy must have gotten her to let  _ me _ go.” 

The toon and inkling didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Buddy’s face was a combination of shock, confusion, and concern, while Norman, well, he was a bit harder to read. Finally, Norman lifted his index finger, “ _ You...” _ he sharply extended his other fingers at Henry,  _ “WHAT?!” _

“Desperate times, desperate measures,” Henry tried to say as nonchalantly as possible. 

_ “If you three are quite done,”  _ Alice growled from the speakers _ , “I’d advise you get a move on.” _

Henry glanced up at the Bendy statue behind him. 

“ _ After all, Sammy’s still waiting in the haunted house. And he might have a bit of trouble staying alive.” _

Norman shrieked at her, “ _ What- did you do to him, you- filthy angel?!” _

“Norman, please,” Henry said, “Believe me, that won’t do much. Best we can do is focus on getting to him,” the man turned for the door, “And hope for a miracle,” he added under his breath. 

= = = 

The door to Storage 9 had closed behind Buddy and Norman when they had gone through to get to Henry. For some reason, this undid all the progress Buddy had gotten, flipping all the switches off. 

He was a bit upset about it. He almost  _ died  _ for a few of those switches! 

But having Norman and Henry back made up for it. And they were able to get to the switches faster. 

Henry “let off some steam” on the Butcher Gang, single-handedly hacking them to puddles while Norman and Buddy avoided the carnage to sneak down the halls to the switches. 

Buddy noticed the crying Lost One was gone. 

Norman and Buddy got locked into the room with Bertrum’s octopus ride. Unfortunately, this meant Henry got locked  _ outside _ . Norman assured him they’d be fine, as the ride was still in pieces, and Henry ran off for the last switch they’d need. 

Norman inspected the central part of the ride, the only part still intact. The doors were closed, but ink was leaking from behind them in streams, and the puddles on the floor seemed alive. 

“ _ I- don’t like- the looks o’ this-, Pup, _ ” said Norman. Buddy silently agreed, pulling an axe from his back pocket. 

A deep growl rumbled around the room and with it, a dozen Searchers sprang up. Norman immediately charged forward and started splattering the things, while Buddy more or less took care of stragglers. 

They fought off the spawning monstrosities for perhaps two minutes when the ride came to life again. Sort of. 

The sockets where the arms attached spurted inky, tendril-like structures that writhed erratically, grabbing up any metal remains that they touched. Unfortunately for Norman, his head qualified. 

An ink tendril slapped against the side of his head and gripped it hard. He was yanked off his feet and into the air, joining other debris that was now being spun and slammed around. 

Norman managed to grab the ink thing holding him and twist it off. He didn’t realize he had been up near the ceiling until he was plummeting back toward the floor. Thankfully, he just so happened to land on a Searcher that was sneaking up behind Buddy. 

It was a surprise for the both of them, to say the least. 

Buddy helped Norman to his feet, then Norman promptly shoved them back to the floor, narrowly avoiding a semi-rebuilt arm from the ride. 

“ _ How- is this happening? _ ” Norman barked. Buddy shrugged. Norman shoved him aside once more, swiping a Searcher’s head clean off. 

The projectionist then growled and pulled Buddy to a safe corner, “ _ Stay here, Pup. I’ve about- had enough of- this. _ ” With a piercing shriek, Norman went all-out on anything that moved, ripping it apart with his bare hands. 

It both awed and frightened Buddy. 

He had to keep his guard up, however, as some of the pieces from Bertrum’s semi-reanimated arms were able to reach him. He fell into a rhythm of dodging flying metal and swinging at ink creatures. 

Until it was all over. 

The ride fell silent again. The puddles faded. Buddy breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced over to Norman and was going to celebrate a well-won fight, but Norman’s behavior sparked his caution. 

Norman was hunched over the fading remains of his enemies, having torn through them with reckless abandon. Almost like the mindless Projectionist. Buddy put his axe away and carefully stepped around him, giving a wide berth just in case he needed to run or hide. 

Norman’s hands twitched, as if itching to tear into something else, and his light swept around the ink puddles. 

Buddy stepped a bit closer, letting out a small whine. Norman’s light glared his direction. Buddy lifted his arm up to shield his eyes from the sudden, blinding glare, his feet instinctively backing away from the staticky scream. 

He could make out Norman’s heavy footsteps stalking toward him and could see clawed hands reaching out. 

Thinking fast, Buddy rushed to one side, running away from the growling, machine-headed inkling. Was there a vent he could escape through? Maybe some low corner? A high place? Could he climb up the-! 

His feet slipped on an ink puddle and shot out from under him, sending him down hard. 

Norman grabbed his ankle, staticky growls and groans crackling from his speaker as his light flickered violently. 

Buddy let out a hoarse howl, pulling his foot away and scrambling back until he was once more backed against a wall with Norman looming over him. The wolf grit his teeth and stood up straight, startling Norman at his sudden show of defiance. He by far wasn’t unafraid, his flattened ears and tail were evidence of that, but his eyes showed a determination; Norman wouldn’t hurt him.

... 

He hoped. 

Norman had taken a step back to reevaluate his emboldened target, but quickly crouched down again and lunged with a screech. 

Buddy reached his hand up, letting it pass up and over the light to rest on the top of the cold metal, settling between the reel rods. 

Norman froze. His light immediately stopped flickering, instead shining steadily and dimming. A sound groaned from his speaker. His clawed hands softened and moved away from Buddy’s head and chest. 

“ _ P-Pup _ ?” 

Buddy let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and let his hand fall, sagging against the wall with relief. 

Norman stepped back, gazing around at the carnage he’d left before looking back at the boy he’d once again almost killed. “ _ P-... Buddy, I... I didn’t- mean to, I swear. I-I dunno what came- over me, I-... Oh, stars, I messed- up bad. I’m... so- sorry, I shouldn’t’ve- _ !” 

Buddy interrupted with a hug. He wanted to say it was okay. He wanted to say Norman was still recovering. He wanted to say they could help each other. 

But he couldn’t. So he just hugged. He heard Norman’s heartbeat slow to a calm pace. That was good. 

Norman was good. Norman knew that. At least... he  _ should _ know that. 

Buddy wondered if Norman believed he was good. 

Because knowing and believing were two different mindsets. 

He didn’t realize they must have been in there for a while until Henry was pounding on the door. “Norman! Buddy! You two okay?” 

“ _ We’re- fine! Just a bit- rattled, _ ” Norman called back. He looked to Buddy, who was giving him an ‘are you okay?’ look. “ _ I’ll be- alright-, Pup, _ ” Norman assured, “ _ Go ahead ‘n’ get- that switch. Don’t- wanna take too- long. _ ” 

Buddy wasn’t entirely convinced, but trotted over and hit the switch anyway. 

The two met up with Henry at the now-open door of the haunted house. Henry looked apprehensive. 

“ _ You- good? _ ” asked Norman. 

“We’ll see,” Henry replied, leading the others to walk along the tracks of the ride. 

In truth, Henry was worried sick about what he would find in the haunted house. If past cycles were any indication, Alice probably had summoned something horrible for Henry to fight. Then there was her threat about Sammy… 

Henry tried not to think about his best friend getting butchered and stitched back together into some mindless killing machine. 

He dared to hold on to hope that Sammy would be okay. 

“ _ And now, the ride truly begins, Henry _ .” Alice purred over the speakers. “ _ Come in, and pretend it’s all just a bad dream.” _

Her voice followed the trio as they made their way down the track. “ _ It’s a funny thing, how so much can fall apart so fast. We never really were in control at the studio. Either you were in someone’s pocket, or you were putting someone into yours _ .”

Norman scoffed at the last statement. 

“ _ I just wanted what was  _ promised  _ to me. I  _ just  _ wanted to be beautiful. Surely  _ you  _ can understand  _ that.”

Come to think of it, Henry really didn’t. 

“ _ Henryyy, why are you here? We’re all  _ dying  _ to find out. Do you just enjoy the terror of the drop into Hell? _ ” 

“No, I’m here to try to get the trapped souls out of this  _ purgatory _ ,” Henry stated. 

“ _ Hm. _ ” Whether this was news to the angel or she truly did not care was hard to determine. “ _ In any case, I hope you enjoy what’s awaiting you and our prophetic friend. _ ”

Henry began to quicken his pace. 

“ _ It’s a little thing I’ve had in waiting for a while now. I let it out because it needed something to play with before it smashes your head in! I’ll be picking up your heart from whatever remains. _ ” 

The way she said it, so nonchalantly and factual, sent a shiver down Henry’s spine. 

He needed to hurry. The trio approached the doors into the ballroom, all of them hearing sounds of destruction on the other side. Henry pushed against the doors but they wouldn’t budge. 

Norman waved him aside before smashing straight through the door. Henry ran in, hoping beyond hope that Sammy was still alive. 

The room was trashed, littered with debris from crates and park equipment. A hulking monster Searcher swiped through it, searching for something before finding its prize and gripping it in both hands. 

Henry heard a familiar voice cry out as it was lifted up. 

Sammy thrashed in the beast’s grip, his legs kicking in his fruitless attempts to free himself. He screamed as the beast’s grip tightened around his body. 

Henry called his name. Sammy looked his direction. 

For an instant, their gazes met. 

For an instant, gold eyes sparked brighter. 

For an instant, those eyes had hope. 

Then it was snuffed. 

Sammy gurgled a strangled cough as the beast crushed him, spilling his ink over its huge hands. His body spasmed once, then fell limp. The beast growled and tossed its broken toy to the ground. 

Henry froze. His chest tightened. His ears rang. 

That spark-... 

Sammy… was gone... 

He’d failed. 

_ Hen-!  _

He’d let that hope die. He let the cannon be shattered. 

_ -ry! Move!  _

His pulse pounded in his head. His body wouldn’t move. 

_ “Henry _ !” __

He looked to his right. 

The fender of a cart filled his view. 

Pain. 

Then nothing. 


	24. Again

“ _ \- might have trouble staying alive. _ ” 

Henry backed against the wall and gripped his head. 

That spark dying... 

Sammy was dead. 

He failed his friend. 

Sammy,  _ I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I failed, I’m so sor _ -

“ _ Henry _ ?”

A hand touched his shoulder. He jolted, “Back off!” 

Norman flinched back, raising his palms. 

Henry gasped. “N-Norman. I’m sorry, I-... I didn’t mean-”

“ _ I- saw- what happened. You- _ .” 

“Please don’t.” 

Everyone fell silent and Henry sank his head back into his hands. 

Norman’s reels clicked softly as he hesitantly touched Henry’s shoulder. “ _ Have to- leave it-. We have no- time. _ ” 

Henry’s head snapped up. “Time.” 

Both Norman and Buddy tilted their heads. 

Henry stood up, “We’re back here. We have time to save him.” 

“ _ I don’t get- what are you saying? _ ”

A fiery light flickered in Henry’s eyes. “We can get to Sammy in time, but we have to go! Now!” 

= = 

Between the running and smashing apart Searchers, Henry managed to explain the jist of what happened and why he was rushing. They went back in time, meaning back before Sammy had been killed, meaning if they hurried, they could get to him in time. 

They once again killed the Gang, Buddy ran off for the switch in the flooded halls, and all three of them intentionally got shut in Bertrum’s room. 

His ride had inexplicably been reassembled. It didn’t even wait for them to approach, coming to life with a roar and spinning the arms like mad. 

Henry brandished his axe. “Okay, you know what to do? If we work together, we could-“ 

Before he could finish, Norman had already leapt between the spinning arms to cling to the frame of an open door. Bertrum’s head swung toward the inkling, mouth and eyes agape in silent horror. Norman’s hand pulled back,  _ “I’m so sorry…” _ Henry heard him say before his hand cracked full force between the eyes of the horrid effigy. 

An awful shriek exploded from the both of them. Ink spurted from the ride, slithering up Norman’s arm and curling around the back of his mechanical head. 

Norman’s shriek was abruptly cut short as his head was jerked backwards and his light shone full brightness to project on the ceiling. His arm remained stuck fast in the possessed ride. 

Buddy and Henry craned their necks to watch the image on the ceiling. It was as if taped from someone’s eyes, a sort of first-person film. A voice that wasn’t Norman’s barked from his speaker. 

_ “This is my park! My glory! You may think I’ve gone, but I’m still here!”  _

_ The view turned from a recording tape to face down a nonplussed Joey Drew. The view's owner, apparently Bertrum himself, froze and tried to stutter something, but Joey’s hand snapped up, silencing him. “You talk big, Bertie. But like your little projects, it was never big enough. Never grand enough.”  _

_ “I will not leave you to take my work!” Bertrum growled, “I will not leave some… some  _ devil  _ like yourself to taint my masterpiece!”  _

_ “Oh you won’t leave, that’s for sure.” Joey stalked toward Bertrum, a murderous look in his eye. Bertrum backed up.  _

_ “Nothing in this studio is anyone’s but  _ mine _ ,” Joey declared, “and mine alone. The Machine, the ink, this rotten park,” he backed Bertrum against the ride, “The  _ people _. They may deny it, but I’ve made sure. The door is sealed, and so is your fate.”  _

_ Bertrum’s gaze flicked around, apparently searching for an escape. “You’re insane, Drew!”  _

_ “Correct.” With a lunge, Joey seized Bertrum by the throat and lifted his feet off the floor. The point of view offered a disturbingly clear view of Joey’s face as it contorted and pulsed with black veins. His other hand drew back, covered in ink-black veins and sharpened claws. With a sharp yank, he threw Bertrum to the floor. The view barely had time to look up before the clawed hand was slashing down toward it.  _

Norman’s voice returned in a pained groan as his hand and reels finally disconnected. He fell to the floor with a heavy, wet thud. 

“Norman!” Henry slid to his side, pulling off the thick tendrils of ink still clinging to him. Norman pushed himself to his hands and knees, rubbing the side of his head. “ _ That was...different _ .” He glanced up at the ride, now eerily still with a stream of ink leaking from between the closed doors. “ _ What did I do? _ ” 

“I uh, I think you projected Bertrum’s last memory.” 

Norman’s head tilted. “ _ I- did what? _ ” 

Henry scoffed and helped Norman to his feet, “Come on, of all the freaky powers this ink grants, some kind of “past projection” is so unbelievable?” 

“ _ Just… it- seems a bit… invasive. _ ” 

Henry’s shoulders sank a bit. “Oh. I understand.” 

Buddy trotted back from hitting the switch. He pointed at the ride, then the back of his own head while making a pained expression at Norman. 

“ _ Don’t- worry, Pup. No harm done to- these reels. _ ” 

The boy toon smiled. 

“Come on,” Henry beckoned them out of the room, “we need to get going.” 

Buddy ran ahead to light up the Power Station, opening the door in record time. 

Henry strode forward, but pulled up short when the power cut and the door slammed in his face. 

_ “Aw, come now, that was too fast. You haven’t had any fun,” _ Alice chuckled over the speakers. 

Henry leveled a glare at the nearest speaker. “Alice, open the door!” 

The angel barked a mocking laugh, but said nothing. 

Henry clenched his fists. He stepped aside, “Norman. Break down the door.” 

He did. 

_ “Ugh! Well now you’re just cheating,” _ said Alice

“Shut up!” Henry stabbed a finger at the speaker near him, “Listen to me, you-!” he swore, “I don’t care how much you taunt me, how many traps you lay, or how many times I have to do this all again;  _ I will save my friend _ !” 

Nothing came over the speakers for a moment, then,  _ “... You poor, unfortunate soul. I’ll have fun watching you try.”  _

Henry flipped her off and prowled onto the track. 

Buddy glanced at Norman. He gestured and pointed.

Norman’s head tilted. “ _ I ever- seen Henry that mad before? Just once, when he found out Joey wasn’t proper- creditin’ him for creatin’- Bendy,”  _ Norman beckoned the wolf and started following Henry down the tunnel. 

_ “He’s- a good man, Bud. Probably the most collected, level-headed man I’d ever hope to meet. He’s a- protective- type y’know? Now, you better- mark it down, if somethin’ keeps- him from defendin’ what- he cares about, or- threaten them, or, heaven forbid, someone-  _ harm-  _ those close to him, I got no doubt that- man wouldn’t hesitate to rain- down Hell.”  _

Norman paused for a moment, noting Buddy’s wide-eyed expression.  _ “That kinda loyalty’s- hard to- come by. Makes a man like him- valuable. Too valuable for a cesspool- like this if- ya ask me. _ ” He sighed a bit, then started speeding up his pace, “ _ Come- on, we- do need to hurry. _ ” 

They had to run to catch up with the also-running Henry. When they approached the end of the tunnel, Henry pointed at the closed door, “Norman!” 

“ _ Got it! _ ” Norman pushed ahead and charged straight through the door. Henry passed him, using both hands to throw his axe at the biggest ink thing in the room. Thankfully, that happened to be the giant Searcher beast. 

The axe struck it in the back. It reared back and roared, turning from the cornered Sammy and fixing its empty gaze on Henry. 

“ _ Well, you- got its attention-, _ ” Norman said, _ “Now what? _ ” 

“Don’t die again?” suggested Henry. Norman gave him what could count as a glare. 

“Henry?!” Sammy’s voice squeaked with his panic, “What are you  _ doing  _ here?” 

“Saving you?” 

“That’s a terrible idea!” 

Henry started backing away from the Searcher, skirting the edge of the room, “You’d rather I leave you to get crushed?” 

“I meant it’s a terrible idea to face  _ that  _ thing!” 

“You’re welcome.” Henry dodged a crate swatted his direction. 

“You’re insufferable, Stein!” 

“You’re welcome!” 

“Just get me out of here!” 

Henry glanced at Norman, “Can you distract that thing?” 

“ _ That- I can _ .” Norman’s light brightened and he let out a shriek, drawing the Searcher’s attention away from Henry. Henry and Buddy ran for Sammy. Henry immediately noticed the wound in Sammy’s side was bleeding and his ankle looked even more broken than before. “Are you okay?” 

Sammy glanced down at his wounds, “If I don’t think about them, I think the adrenaline keeps the pain down. Feeling kinda lightheaded, though.” 

Henry’s hands lit up with gold ink, “That’s because you’re still bleeding. Hold still, I can patch it up.” He just barely started when Buddy yanked him backwards. 

A cart smashed into the wall where Henry used to be crouching. Sammy sank lower against the wall. 

The Searcher lumbered toward them, and Henry jumped out of the way from the swipe of its giant hand. 

“ _ Sorry, Henry! _ ” Norman called, “ _ It only seems interested- in- you! _ ” 

“Lovely,” Henry grumbled. He danced around the beast for a bit, trying to learn its patterns, if it had them. “Sammy!” he called, “Does this thing seem to follow a pattern of attack at all?” 

“You think I took time to notice?” 

“Never mind. Norman! Buddy!” 

The two looked at him, awaiting orders. 

“Hit that thing with everything you’ve got! Get mad and don’t hold back!” 

Both the wolf and inkling took the same crouched stance. Norman lunged first, pouncing on the beast and using the axe still embedded in its back for leverage before yanking it out and slamming it into the disgusting hide. 

The beast tried to swat Norman off its back, leaving its belly exposed for Buddy to rush forward and take a swing with an axe of his own. 

Meanwhile, Henry managed to get Sammy’s wound to at least stop bleeding, and helped him move to a slightly safer corner of the room, their backs to the grappling combatants. 

Sammy chanced a glance over his shoulder, just in time to grab Henry and let his body go limp, pulling both of them to the floor as Norman went flying over their heads. 

He hit the floor and tumbled, groaning when he came to a stop. Buddy hit the opposite wall in much the same manner before the beast was once more charging at Henry. 

This time, Henry was a bit too slow, allowing the beast to grab his leg and throw him across the room. He didn’t even get the chance to stop sliding over the tiles before the best had him in its grip once more. Henry kicked and pushed with his free hand, trying to use his gold ink to make the thing let go of him. However, the gooey hide could smother out the gold ink before it had a chance to melt away the black. 

The beast growled and jammed Henry against its chest, letting its ink fall over and absorb him. Henry gagged as ink got in his mouth, still trying to push against the slippery creature with his gold ink. Nothing was slowing it down, however, and he sank further into the creature’s body. 

Henry managed to fill his lungs with air before his head was drowned under the ink. 

It was so cold. The ink crushed itself against Henry’s body, trying to squeeze the remaining life out of him. 

Henry, however, didn’t notice. He was captivated by what he saw. He could sense a gold flicker in front of him. A small, pulsing gold flame that writhed and sputtered. Henry reached for it, his gold ink letting his fingers pass through the sticky black easily. His fingertips just barely grazed the flame. 

With that single touch, a cacophony of sights and sounds assaulted his senses. He heard multiple voices crying, screaming,  _ wailing  _ in agony as red-laced visions showed instances of grasping hands and empty eyes. 

Then he felt something grab his foot and yank him sharply. 

Henry burst free with a disgusting squelch and was guided to the ground by a pair of cold hands. He coughed and spluttered, spitting ink from his mouth. He used his gold ink to quickly clear the ink from his face, staring up at the staggering beast. 

“It’s… more than one.” 

“Did you hit your head inside that thing?” Sammy squawked, “You almost died!” 

“No, listen to me!” Henry turned to see Allison gawking at him. “Oh, hi Allsion.” Sammy and Allison, who had helped pull him free, were now both staring at him. 

Henry pointed back to the Searcher, noticing Buddy and Norman were working together to keep it distracted away from an injured Tom, “That thing, whatever it is, it’s held together with souls. Pieces of souls. They’ve been... forced together into something strong enough to operate that body.” 

“So?” Sammy asked. 

“So I need to get back inside that thing and pull them free.” Henry turned to face the beast. 

“I’m sorry,” Allison grabbed his arm, “I don’t know who you are exactly, but there is no way you’re going ‘back inside that thing’. It took enough of a whim to help Overalls here pull you out,-” 

“Hey!” retorted Sammy. 

Allison ignored him, “But I am not letting the first real human I’ve seen in decades throw himself to that…  _ thing _ .” 

Henry’s brow lowered, “You don’t know who I am, but you recognize me?” His focus wandered to the middle distance, “Man, this new cycle is confusing. Some remember, some don’t, I guess.” 

“Henry!” Sammy exclaimed, “Now is not the time for musing about time loops!” 

“Right, right.” Henry turned fully to Allison, “Listen, I realize you may not remember, but sometime in the past, you trusted me to set you free. But I can’t set you free if I don’t start with the trapped, lost souls. Please, I know things are confusing, but I need you to trust me again.” 

Allison studied his face. “I… I don’t know how or why, but I do.” 

Henry smiled and nodded once. Then he yelled for everyone to get away from the Searcher before throwing himself into its chest. The beast staggered slightly before clamping its hands around Henry and absorbing him again. 

This time, Henry let it happen. 

He spotted the pulsing gold flame and reached for it. His fingers grazed its surface and he was once more overcome with sights and sounds. He pushed through it, reaching further and curling his fingers around the solid light until he grasped it firmly in his fist. 

Then he pulled. 

The light snapped from its anchor and Henry reared out of the inky abyss, falling to the floor with a wet splat. 

He took a moment to collect himself and get the ink away from his face. Once he could see straight again, he glanced down at the light in his hand. It was pulsing and whispering. 

Slowly, Henry opened his hand. The light rose upward and hovered a few inches over his gold-tipped fingers. The whispers became softer, slower, less anxious. The light gave a few more weak pulses before it split into four parts and dissipated into shining dust. 

Henry thought he heard a “thank you” sigh from the light. 

The giant Searcher’s torn-open body swayed in place, then fell straight down, melting away into an ever-decreasing puddle. 

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. 

Until Alice shrieked over the speakers again.  _ “No! No, no, NO! Why won’t you just  _ die!? _ ” _

The twisted angel herself came rushing in, her face contorted in rage and fingers clawed. She made a beeline for the unarmed Henry and would have pounced on him had he not been shoved aside. Sammy, in a shocking instant, shouldered Henry away and then turned to face Alice, wrapping his arms around her. 

“Susie, please,” he whispered, “stop.” 

Alice’s good eye stretched wide and ink leaked from her damaged one. She stood very still, her gaze unfocused. 

Slowly, her gaze drifted to Sammy, and even slower did her hands rise over his back. 

Everyone was tense, but no one else dared move or speak, hoping whatever Sammy was doing would work. 

The inkling hugged the angel tighter and whispered something in her ear. Alice’s hands were hovering over his back, her expression softened. She closed her eyes, inhaled slowly, then sighed. 

Her eyes opened with a hard glare. “Angels hate liars.” 

Her hands tensed into claws that she raked deep through Sammy’s back. 

Sammy yelled and reared out of her grip. Alice shoved him down, turned, and sprinted out of the room. 

Henry slid to his friend’s side, “Sammy!” 

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.” 

“I thought I could…I…” 

Henry sighed sympathetically and gently took Sammy’s arm, “Yes, I know. I’m sorry. Now come on,” he urged, helping the inkling to his feet and warily glancing at the spawning Wanderers, “We need to get out of here.” 


	25. Another Chapter

“Just a little farther,” Allison assured. Henry supported Sammy, while Norman practically carried Tom, despite the flaming expression the mechanic was giving. Buddy kept throwing empty soup cans behind them, keeping the Wanderers at a relatively safe distance. 

Finally, Allison kicked open a door and ushered everyone inside. The six people quickly filled the small space, though it didn’t stop Henry’s old war medic experience. There were injured people and they needed to be taken care of immediately. 

“Norman, sit Tom down and keep his leg straight. Sammy, sit here. Buddy, help him keep that ankle raised. I need to heal his side and back first.” 

No one argued and the orders were carried out quickly. 

Henry’s eyes lit up and he began to work on Sammy’s wounds. In a matter of minutes, the scores across his back were snugly sealed and the abused wound in his side properly patched. 

It was while straightening his ankle that Henry discovered the consequences for using his powers too much. 

What started as a cold ache behind his skull left over from the fight suddenly became like two icicles shoved through his eyes and up the insides of his wrists. 

He yelled and recoiled, eyes streaming like faucets. He was aware of a hand on his back and someone calling his name. By screwing his eyes shut and burying his head between his knees, Henry managed to get the cold pain to subside. 

“Henry?” Allison asked, “What was that?” 

“I-...” he brushed gold ink from his eyes, “I think I overused my power.” 

The angel gasped, “Your hand!” 

Henry turned his shaking hands over. Gold veins pulsed under the skin of his fingers and palm. It felt like freezing fire. 

“Henry,” 

He looked up at Sammy. 

“It’s okay, don’t kill yourself for this. We’ll survive.” 

“But-“ 

“Stein, do  _ not _ argue with me on this!” Sammy swallowed his outburst, “Just… how would you handle this like a normal person?” 

Henry’s gaze started searching the room, “We- we need to make splints. Uh, straight bits of wood, strips of cloth, paper…” 

Allison jumped up and started pulling the items out of a trunk. “I knew hoarding stuff like this would pay off,” she said. 

Tom huffed. 

Henry’s hands were still shaking too hard to help, but, with his instruction, Buddy and Allison were able to wrap Sammy’s ankle and splint Tom’s leg. Henry hated that he could tell their injuries were uncomfortable, but he could hardly think about using his power without a cold pulse spiking behind his eyes. 

Allison made him lie down and breathe. 

He was initially going to argue, but something about her being a basically superhuman angel with two katanas strapped to her hips made her rather convincing. 

Since Henry’s headache was starting to subside, Allison sat beside him and made some small talk. Mainly questions. “So, you didn’t seem surprised to see us.” 

“I kinda figured you’d come in to save my butt at the last minute. You always do.” 

“Hm. I’ve… never told you my name.” 

A pit of dread settled in Henry’s stomach. “You don’t remember at all? The last cycle? We beat Joey and Bendy took control.” 

Allison considered this. Her brow knit close in thought. She sighed and tossed her hand like she didn’t remember, then it hit her about as hard as a cartoonishly large anvil. 

She stood and uttered the only curse Henry had ever heard from her. “Holy-... Tom!” 

“Eh, boy,” Henry puffed air through his lips and rubbed his temples. 

Norman laughed. 

Some time passed. The group got reacquainted with each other, introducing Norman and Buddy. 

Henry, over a bowl of soup, brought up Norman’s strange power he displayed earlier. 

“ _ It was- weird, to- say the least, _ ” Norman said, “ _ It was like- I touched a live- wire. It- happened- so fast. I felt a jolt up my arm and it somehow- connected somethin’ to my- reels. I didn’t quite know- what to do ‘cept play- the tape. _ ” 

“And that ‘tape’ was Bertrum’s last living memory?” Allison asked. 

Norman nodded. 

Allison tented her fingers in thought. “Do you think... you can do it again? Intentionally, I mean.” 

Norman and Henry glanced at each other, then Norman looked back at the angel and shrugged, “ _ I- dunno. Maybe? Why? _ ” 

Allison’s gaze flicked to Tom. The mechanic was distracting himself with tuning his metal arm. 

“He doesn’t remember anything,” Allison said, “And frankly, there are… gaps in my memory.” She focused back to Norman, “If you really can project memories, do you think you can help fill in ours?” 

Norman seemed hesitant, “ _ I really don’t- know. Doing it with Bertrum- was completely on accident. An’ it killed him once it was over. I don’t wanna- endanger you. _ ” 

“But what if it  _ did  _ work?” Allison asked, “If you did it on purpose, couldn’t you then control if it… caused damage, I guess?” 

Again, Norman looked to Henry. The man nodded, “If you want to, I won’t stop you. But only if you’re okay with trying it.” 

Norman’s faint light dropped to the table’s surface, then up to Allison. “ _ If… if  _ you’re- _ okay with me trying it. _ ” 

Allison brightened and nodded. “So, what do I do?” she asked, standing up. 

Norman stood up as well, “ _ Uh, actually, _ ” he pulled a chair over, facing it toward the wall, “ _ you might want to sit. _ ” 

Allison sat down, ready for whatever was going to happen. Norman stood behind her and laid one hand on her shoulder and the other on her head. “ _ Okay. I have no idea if this will work, but I’ll try to make something happen. _ ” 

Norman’s light dimmed and Allison’s eyes closed. A few moments of awkward silence passed, then Norman’s grip on Allison tightened slightly and his light brightened. He projected a blank, gold-framed cel on the wall. 

His fingers shifted a bit, as if looking for something. Eventually, a clear picture of Allison’s view started playing. Her voice came from Norman’s speaker. 

_ “Tom, wait,” she caught the man’s sleeve, “Is this really a good idea? I mean, we haven’t heard from him for a while, now he just asks us back to the old office?”  _

_ The view glanced over a letter she was holding, Joey’s handwriting clear against the faded paper.  _

_ “I’ll admit, it’s a bit strange,” the gruff voice of Thomas Conner sounded out of her view, “But it could be a chance for me to get some of my inventions back. Namely, the Machine. Also that stained glass…”  _

_ Allison scoffed and set the letter on a table. “All right; anything for those dusty inventions of yours, of course,” she teased. Tom chuckled and helped Allison into a coat.  _

_ The couple turned to a mirror.  _

Henry’s eyes widened at them. Allison was beautiful, with a fair face and wavy bob cut. Her form was attractive and a rather stark contrast to Tom. 

The mechanic had a hard face but his eyes showed a loving tenderness. He was a head taller than Allison, his sculpted arms and rough hands gently helped the coat over Allsion’s shoulders before lightly playing with her hair. 

_ Allison stood on her toes and pecked a kiss on Tom’s cheek. _

_ Tom opened the door and walked his wife to the car before the view jumped forward to them arriving at the studio in New York. Joey, in a nice suit with his hair slicked back, welcomed them.  _

_ “Tommy! Allison Angel! Welcome back!” Joey glanced down at his lame legs, “I’d stand to shake your hand, but, uh.”  _

_ Tom chuckled, though it sounded forced. He shook Joey’s hand anyway. Allison hugged herself closer to Tom’s arm.  _

_ “Come on in!” Joey turned toward the door, “There’s something I need to show you.”  _

_ The view jumped forward again. Now they were in Joey’s office, the boss sitting behind his desk, Allison was standing behind Tom, who was in the middle of yelling at Joey.  _

_ “Joey, those are my inventions you’ve used! Over twenty years I’ve turned a blind eye, but I can’t let this go anymore! I should have taken them back after the kid.”  _

_ “Tom, please calm down,” Allison touched his shoulder, “You don’t have to get so heated over this.”  _

_ Joey had raised an eyebrow, “‘The kid’? What kid?”  _

_ Tom slammed his fist on the desk, “Daniel Lewek!”  _

Buddy jumped at the noise and mention of his name. 

_ “Tom!”  _

_ “Allison, please, this doesn’t concern you.” Tom focused his enraged glare back to Joey, “I can’t believe you’ve forgotten that kid, Joey! Do you even regret what you did to him?”  _

_ “Apparently not.” Joey looked utterly bored.  _

_ Allison glanced between Joey and her husband. “Daniel Lewek?” She lifted a hand, “Wasn’t that the nice boy in the Art Department?”  _

_ “The kid you put through my Machine!” Tom roared, still focused on Joey. _

_ Joey rolled his eyes, “I didn’t put him ‘through’ the Machine, Thomas. I did what I had to in order to save his soul.”  _

_ “Yeah? And why did you need to do that in the first place?” Tom looked ready to blow, “Because something  _ you _ spawned from my Machine  _ killed  _ him!”  _

_ “Tom?” Allison had backed up further and was now against the wall. “Tom, what are you talking about?”  _

_ Joey leaned forward and stared Tom dead in the eyes, “That was an unfortunate accident that led to the first successful model. Sure, the kid kind of drowned, but it was the first time a soul was successfully used. The ends outshone the means.”  _

At that point, Henry was fairly certain the only thing keeping Tom from actually killing Joey was Allison’s presence. 

_ Allison stepped forward and touched Tom’s arm, “Tom, you’re scaring me. Please, let’s just go home.”  _

_ Tom’s eyes locked onto hers. The furious glare softened. Tom closed his eyes and sighed, the glare returning to Joey. He stood straight and took his wife’s hand.  _

_ “Goodbye, Mister Drew. Don’t contact us again.”  _

_ The two of them turned away. Tom let go of her hand to reach for the office door. Allison cast a glance back at Joey.  _

_ He had a gun pointed at them.  _

_ Allison shrieked, “TOM!!!”  _

_ Multiple deafening shots rang Allison’s ears.  _

_ Tom fell to the floor. Allison was at his side, clutching his arm and gasping at the gaping, bleeding wounds blown through his chest. Tom weakly groped for her, “G-get aw-… Jo-ey… run.”  _

_ Allison began to turn her head, but her hair was suddenly gripped and her head yanked upward. She caught a glimpse of a thin, shiny blade reaching around her throat, then an awful pain sliced through her flesh.  _

_ Allison tried to make a noise, but she only gurgled on her own blood. She fell to the ground, watching crimson pool over the wood. She reached for Tom, who was on his stomach with Joey standing over him.  _

_ Then her view blurred before being quickly overtaken with darkness.  _

Norman’s film stuttered before starting again, this time from Tom’s perspective. Henry glanced over. Allison was still in the chair, her back ramrod straight. Tom had laid his hand on her other shoulder and was somehow tapping his mind through her and into Norman’s reception. 

_ Tom rasped a strangled cry as Joey slit his wife’s throat. Joey calmly pocketed the blade and, stepping over the wounded man, kicked him onto his stomach. Tom feebly tried to crawl away and get to Allison.  _

_ Joey held him down, pinning him to the floor with a knee between his shoulders. “You wondering why I did this, Tommy?” Joey hissed, way too close to Tom’s ear. “It’s because you betrayed me. I told you not to try and tell anyone about what happened here.”  _

_ Tom growled through his teeth, “They-... didn’t even… believe me!”  _

_ “It doesn’t matter that they didn’t believe you,” Joey snarled, “It matters that you told.”  _

_ Joey stood up, stepping off Tom. He picked up the gun again. “You remember what I said it would cost you if you talked?”  _

_ Tom lifted his head just enough to see Joey take aim at his lower body, “N-no…”  _

_ “A leg...” Joey shot seven rounds into Tom’s right leg. He threw the gun down and again planted his knee into Tom’s shoulder, taking hold of his left arm.  _

_ Tom’s vision was blurred with both pain and tears, “J-ey…”  _

_ “...And an arm.” Joey clamped Tom’s elbow to the floor, then yanked up on his wrist, snapping the arm the wrong way.  _

_ Tom’s vision tunneled hard. He saw enough to make out Joey’s clawed and black-veined hands twist his arm around until it pulled away completely.  _

_ Black closed in on Tom’s view.  _

Norman’s projection died. He let go. 

Allison sighed and pitched forward. Henry caught her shoulders and leaned her back in the chair. 

Norman steadied Tom before he could hit the floor. 

The four of them sat down, either in a chair or on the floor. 

Norman was the first to speak, “ _ Allison, why- did you- want- to reme-mber- that? _ ” his voice stuttered more than normal and sounded tight. 

Allison didn’t answer. She and Tom were too consumed in each other. Tom was making strained whines, and ink tears dripped from Allison’s eyes. Both of them touched each other’s hands and faces, wonder, grief, and love in their eyes. 

“I knew I felt something toward you,” Allison whispered. 

Henry looked at Norman. He waved the inkling over and lowered his voice, “I think she wanted to remember her relationship to Tom. That might have been the farthest and most intact memory she had.” 

Norman shook his head. “ _ I- need a- break, _ ” he muttered. He sat down against the wall on the far end of the safehouse, letting his head thunk against the wall before his light shuttered closed. 

Buddy sat next to him. 

Henry looked at Norman and Buddy, then Tom and Allison. The former had a nice sort of father-son friendship, which did the both of them good. The latter were husband and wife, long forgotten but now truly reunited. 

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Sammy had gone to sleep earlier, and Henry had though he’d slept through Norman’s projection. 

Apparently he’d spied on it, after all. 

Henry decided to check on him. He’d seemed sullen ever since Alice….

Henry found Sammy curled up, sitting on the cot. Henry sat against the opposite wall. Silence hung between them before Henry broke it. 

“It’s okay that you care.” 

Sammy’s head turned away, “Caring only ever got me hurt.” 

“That’s a risk, sure. But it can let you find people who care in return, who then help with the hurt from those who don’t.” 

Sammy scoffed, “That’s why you came back, isn’t it? It’s why you did everything.” He paused. “I’m glad you left.”

“Wait, what?” 

“You left because you cared about your family. You fought in the war because you cared about your country. Then… you came back because you cared about us.” 

Henry blinked at him. “Huh. Look at you, all wise and sappy.” 

“ _ Pft _ .” Sammy’s slight smile vanished, replaced by a forlorn expression. His head sank lower into his crossed arms. 

Henry stood and sat beside him, gently laying an arm over his shoulders. “You really miss her, don’t you.” 

Henry felt a sob shake Sammy’s frame. The inkling nodded. Henry fidgeted with his wedding ring. “... Me too,” he muttered under his breath. 

Sammy began to break down. “I still love her, Henry! I do, I l-love- I wanted her and I to be-...” his voice hitched, “I just w-wanted her b-back, I-...” Sammy tried to stifle the growing sobs. 

“It’s all right,” Henry turned and pulled Sammy into a hug, “You’re allowed.” 

Sammy’s cries started in earnest, “... she want-... di-n’t…” he gripped at Henry’s shirt and curled in on himself. “ _ I-... w-nna... g-... h-me, _ ” he stuttered, words dissolving into broken weeping. 

Henry gently rubbed Sammy’s shoulders, “I know, my friend. I know,” his eyes once more found his wedding ring. His arms hugged a little tighter as tears started to spill over his face, “I truly do.” 

Much later that night, Henry woke to the sound of rhythmic, agitated clicking. It took a moment for his brain to make sense of his surroundings, and another moment to get his limbs moving. He sat up, realizing the sound was coming from the other side of the makeshift room’s boarded wall. 

Carefully stepping around Sammy, who had fallen asleep on the floor, he found the source of the sounds: Norman. The inkling was sitting up against the wall, Buddy out like a light on his shoulder. Norman, however, seemed to be dreaming. His reels clicked and whirred as the speaker made soft popping noises. The light in his head flickered; he seemed bothered by whatever he was dreaming. A nightmare, perhaps? 

“Norman?” Henry asked softly. The inkling didn’t respond. Henry crouched by his side. “Norman.” When again nothing happened, Henry resorted to laying a hand on the inky shoulder and shaking. “Norman!” 

Norman’s head swiveled toward Henry. Light sent a painful stab through Henry’s skull. 

He felt himself fall. 


	26. Keep Your Head

Henry landed roughly on his hands. It took a few seconds for the stars in his eyes to clear, but once they did, he realized he wasn’t in the safehouse anymore. He stood up quickly despite the odd feeling in his head, gasping through his teeth. 

It was the recording studio, but different. The chairs on the stage looked relatively new, and the instruments were carefully lined up against the wall. Above his head, the projector’s light flicked off. 

Henry turned, shocked to see Norman,  _ human  _ Norman, standing at his place beside the large machine. 

It finally hit him. 

The odd feeling in his head. He was seeing the past again. 

He blinked, and was suddenly in the booth. Both he and Norman turned to the sound of approaching footsteps. Henry instinctively moved back. 

Norman glanced toward his boss, “Joey? I’d… thought you’d’ve gone home for the night.” 

Joey scoffed, “Yeah, you and me both.” He stepped around the projectionist and leaned against the wall to his right. “I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Funny,” Norman said, “I wanted the same thing.” He turned fully toward Joey, “But I ain’t talkin ‘bout nothin’ to you until you tell me what in tarnation’s been going on.” 

Joey’s head tilted. “Like what?” 

“Like what happened to Sammy?” 

Joey smirked and waved his hand, “Eh, he stopped dreaming. So he had to go.”

Norman’s eyes narrowed. “Go where, Joey?” 

“Would you drop it? What is it to you?” 

Norman slammed his hand on the railing and swore, “Joey, he’s my friend!” 

Joey merely rolled his eyes, brushing past Norman toward the stairs. 

“Joey.” 

He stopped. 

“Somethin’s not right here. Something…” Norman’s eyes swept the lower floor, as if wary something might come through the walls, “ _ inhuman _ is alive in here.”

Joey ignored Norman, walking down the stairs and laying a hand on the door at the bottom.

“People are vanishing, Joey,” Norman said, “People  _ you’re  _ responsible for. It bothers me that this don’t bother you.” 

Henry heard Joey mutter, “Oh, it bothers me, all right.” 

Norman tapped his fingers on the railing, “Come again?” 

“Just not the way you’re thinking,” Joey finished his thought, loud enough for Norman to hear. He started back up the stairs as he spoke. “Fact is, Sammy stopped dreaming, so I had to let him go. Though, it was a bit more literal than you’d think.” 

Norman’s teeth bared and he let out a growl, “What did you do?” 

Joey ignored him. “Thing with you, Norman. You’ve always been sticking your head into places it shouldn’t be. I want to tell you that it’s not acceptable anymore.” 

The two of them stared each other down, daring the other to break first. Norman broke the silence but not the stare, “If that’s the case, then my letter of resignation will be on your desk in the morning.” 

He brushed past Joey and tried the door. It was stuck tight. 

“What the-.” 

Joey sneered and let out a malicious chuckle from above. “No, Norman, you’re not understanding. Your head’s got too much valuable stuff in it to let it leave. The things recorded on your reels are my property. One way or another, I’ll keep them here.” 

Norman turned around. “You know what’s been happening to the others.” He bored a glare into Joey, “What did you do to Sammy?” he demanded, marching up the stairs and grabbing Joey by the front of his coat. “What did you do to my friends?!” 

Joey simply smirked. He nodded over at the machine on the railing. “What’s that?” 

Norman hesitated, “... My projector?” 

“You were always attached to it.” Before Norman or Henry could react, Joey stabbed a switchblade into Norman’s body. 

Norman tensed. His jaw dropped open but no sound came out. 

Joey looked amused, “Hm,” he muttered, “think I hit a rib, there.” He yanked the blade downward. 

Norman groaned and released Joey, falling to his knees. His hands clasped over the gaping wound slashed through his stomach. 

Joey flipped the knife closed and turned toward the perched projector. “Like I said, you were always attached to this thing.” He picked up the cumbersome machine far too easily, “One might even say…” he grinned at Norman, “ _ Inseparable _ .” 

Joey stood over Norman, the man on the floor bleeding and rasping. Joey turned the projector so its lens faced himself. Norman struggled to lift his head and glare defiance at the monster standing above him. 

Joey raised the projector. “You should keep your head where it belongs.” With that, Joey slammed the projector over Norman’s head. The machine’s shell caved, enveloping its captive, though Henry heard another crack that wasn’t metal. 

Norman’s body fell to the floor, dragged down with the added weight. Blood spilled from his gashed stomach and from beneath the metal of the projector, which now held his broken skull. 

Sammy phased through the wall behind Joey, standing by his master’s side. Joey didn’t spare him a glance. “Take him to the Machine.” 

Henry suddenly found himself on the catwalk overlooking the Machine. Sammy approached, dragging Norman’s body behind him.

“ _ Whistle a merry tune. Wait for his arrival, he’s coming very soon, _ ” Henry heard the inkling chant. 

He met Joey at the now-railless edge of the catwalk and held Norman by a leg over the churching Machine. Henry saw Norman’s encased head move and turn toward Joey. 

Joey didn’t notice. He was too focused on the ink well below. “Go ahead, my Prophet.” 

The voice barely existed, though Norman’s rasped words hissed loudly in Henry’s ears.  _ “Jo-ey D-rew.” _

Sammy let go. 

Henry looked away, wincing at the sound of Norman’s body hitting the ink. His hands clenched as tears sprang to his eyes. Why was he seeing this? What was showing him this? 

It was then he noticed that Sammy hadn’t moved, despite Joey leaving. The inkling’s shoulders hunched and his hands clenched tightly. Henry stepped up to his side, a soft gasp escaping his lips. The only feature on Sammy’s face was his eyes. The dull, ugly yellow gaze was fixed on the now glassy surface of the inkwell. 

A drop of ink distorted the glass for only an instant. The inkling’s hand lifted to his cheek. He pulled back and seemed surprised at the yellowish tear on his finger. 

Joey’s voice called from the Machine Room’s doorway, “Come, Prophet. There is still work to be done.”

The hand still clenched in a fist curled tighter. “Of course, m-my lord.” His shoulders rose, then fell. The raised hand covered his eyes. “He… will not… accept… anything less… than…  _ perfection _ .” 

Something in Henry twisted. Those words sounded like they had been forcibly wrung from Sammy’s throat. 

Sammy’s chest tightened with a stifled sob. His hand pulled back. His thumb and finger straightened level with his eyes. He hesitated just long enough to make Henry think he wouldn’t do it. 

Henry stepped back as Joey approached and stepped in front of Henry, just as Sammy dug his fingers into his eyes. Henry couldn’t see what Sammy did next, but he made no motion to find out. Joey watched his Prophet, now kneeling on the catwalk, with a tilted head. 

Henry could see drops of yellowed ink drip to the metal floor. He could hear Sammy stifle groans of pain. He could imagine the cold, unfeeling stare on Joey’s face. 

Finally, Joey spoke. “Now, what prompted this, my Prophet?” 

“I-… some of me was still fighting. It was saddened about the baptism. I could not let the imperfection remain.” 

Joey nodded. “I see.” His voice sickened Henry with its mock understanding. Joey crouched and carefully lifted the inkling’s chin, the motion allowing Henry a view. 

The yellow eyes were gone, replaced by dark, empty sockets. Joey sighed and lifted his hands, smoothing the runny ink over the face until not a trace of any human feature remained. 

Joey stood. His mouth curled upward. He beckoned the kneeling inkling. 

And Henry could only watch as Sammy-… no… as the  _ Prophet  _ stood and followed his lord. 

Henry shivered. It was like he was seeing his friend die all over again. Sammy had died twice. Once in the Machine, and now when he became the Prophet. 

He wouldn’t live again for almost thirty years. 

Henry’s feet slowly took him to the end of the catwalk. He stared down at the inkwell, numbly noticing the ink drag a speaker into itself. 

A few seconds later, a stuttering, staticky screech bubbled up.


	27. A New Light

Henry’s eyes snapped open and he found himself eye to bulb with Norman. Norman sagged with relief, “ _ Thank- the stars. I thought I- killed you! _ ” 

Henry sat up against the wall he was leaned on, “Why would you think that?” he asked, rubbing his head. 

Norman hesitated, “ _ I… I don’t… know. _ ” He lifted a hand to the side of his head, “ _ Why would I… _ ” 

“It’s fine, Norman,” Henry assured, “I’m all right. Just a bit… dazed, I guess.” 

The scent of warm soup made Henry’s stomach growl. He glanced behind Norman and saw Buddy with his favorite, soupy cure. 

The wolf handed the filled bowl and a spoon to Henry. 

“Heh, thanks, Bud,” Henry said, foregoing the spoon and tipping the soup into his mouth. He took a long draught, then noticed the lack of other people. “Where is everyone?” 

Buddy and Norman glanced at each other. “ _ Henry, you’ve been- out for almost two- days. _ ” 

Henry almost dropped the bowl. “W-... what? Two days?” 

Buddy nodded and pointed to the entry door. 

“ _ The others have been holding off some rather- violent Searchers an’ off-model Bendy- cutouts. _ ” 

“Wanderers.” 

“ _ What? _ ” 

“They’re called Wanderers,” Henry repeated, drinking the last of the soup and standing, “And if they’re nearby, we might be in trouble.” 

Buddy huffed and crossed his arms at Norman. Norman shook his head, “ _ We’ve been in trouble- ever since I figured- out my soul-light _ .” 

Henry gave him a side-glance, “Sorry, your what?” 

In response, Norman turned his light brighter. “ _This is it normal, see?_ _But this,_ ” his light turned a pale shade of gold, “ _ain’t._ ” Norman swept his light around the room, illuminating the gold ink on the wall and a pulsing flame in Buddy’s chest. “ _As you can see, I can- show this hidden gold ink. But we called- this a soul-light because o’ the fact I can see souls- in bodies. I can even see yours, Henry. Yer soul an’ ink._ ” 

Norman turned his light on Henry, showing his gold-covered hands. The inky veins stretched farther than just his fingertips, snaking down the length of his hands. Henry followed the lines and discovered they went all the way up his arm, over his chest, and ended at a bright gold light over his heart. 

A  _ very _ bright gold light. Bright enough to cast shadows through the room. 

“Is that my soul?” Henry asked. 

“ _ Sure is. Yeh can tell- it’s, ah, a bit bright. _ ” 

“Yeah, no kidding. None of the other souls I’ve seen have ever been this bright.”

“ _ An’ that’s barely half- of it. _ ” 

“Oh?” Henry glanced up, “What else is there?” 

Norman paused for a moment, then realized Henry misunderstood, “ _ No, no, I mean that’s barely- half of yer soul. _ ” 

Henry glanced back down, “Bendy.” 

Norman’s light nodded and turned off, “ _ Bendy. Little devil didn’t quite- split the treasure even. You got a smaller-than-half piece o’ your soul left. The difference ain’t that- detrimental, since your soul is so- powerful by itself, but it’s a difference for sure. _ ” 

Henry unconsciously rubbed the spot over his heart, “I did feel really weak when he first broke it,” he said. 

Norman nodded once more, “ _ Probably because- o’ the sudden change. Once the cycle- reset, though, I guess it forced your body- to readjust to only workin’ with half of it usual soul supply. _ ” 

“Why is it so bright, though?” 

Norman shrugged, “ _ Probably the same reason- why your soul has such a powerful effect on this place. _ ” 

Buddy wrote something on a notepad and held it up, [Power of the creator.] 

Henry scoffed, “I’m not that extraordinary. I’m only human.” 

Buddy was quick to scribble down something else, [But that could be the very reason you’re so important! You’re the only thing still untouched by the studio’s curse!] 

“Well thanks for the adoration,” Henry said, “But we really should get a move on. In the cycles, I only had about three days until the Ink Demon came knocking. And if I’ve been out for two, then we should get while the getting’s good.” 

As if on cue, Tom, Allison, and Sammy came bursting through the door. Sammy turned and swung a familiar-looking weapon, decapitating a Wanderer, before slamming the door shut. He cursed, “Those things are going to eat us alive one day!” He then noticed Henry, “Henry! You’re awake!” 

“Uh… huh…” Henry pointed at Sammy’s empty hand, “Was that… the scythe?” 

“Oh yeah, this thing,” Sammy confirmed, summoning the weapon out of nothing. “I didn’t know this thing even existed, but man does it feel good to swing around!” 

“Right.” Visible confusion was still written on Henry’s face, “I’m sorry, but that thing can’t be found until later. How on earth do you have it?” 

“Ask Buddy,” Sammy said, letting the scythe fall into air, “He’s the one who had it.” 

Henry turned to the wolf toon. Buddy shrugged. Henry’s mouth opened to say something, but was interrupted by furious pounding on the door. 

Allison backed away from it, “All in favor of swiftly relocating?” 

“Good idea,” Henry said. 

Tom held the opposite door open and ushered everyone out. They grabbed some supplies on the way out but barely looked back on the safehouse. 

“Wait,” Sammy said as they ran, “where exactly are we going?” 

“There’s an ink river up ahead,” said Henry, “And on the other side of that is the Lost Harbor.” 

“Oh yeah, I think I remember that spot. Quaint little place.” 

The group reached the river and barges. Allison docked one boat and let it into the river, “These can only hold three at most. And we have to be careful about the… thing.” 

Norman stared at her, “ _ Thing? What thing? _ ”

“Giant hand in the river,” said Henry. 

There were a few beats of silence until Norman lifted his hand, “ _ I’m sorry, a- what? _ ” 

“You heard me,” Henry snarked as he climbed in the barge with Allison and Tom. 

“ _ Yeah, I did hear ya, _ ” Norman muttered, “ _ but I don’t quite think- I understand. _ ” 

Henry chuckled sarcastically, “Oh, don’t worry, we’ll probably see it.” 

Sammy crossed his arms, “You’re not filling me with much confidence, Stein.” 

Norman swatted Sammy’s head. “ _ Shut up and get- in the boat, ya wuss. _ ” 

Sammy glowered but joined Norman and Buddy in a separate boat. The two boats were launched and were soon puttering down the black river. 

All was silent, aside from the engines and sloshing of the thick liquid in the paddlewheels. Norman kept watch, his light sweeping the tunnel and river. He spotted motion in the ink and focused his light on it. A wave sloshed toward them, as if something very large was moving just under the surface. The thing stopped under his light, then suddenly reared up and uncurled a massive hand. 

“Norman! Turn your light off!” Henry yelled. 

Norman did so, but not before the hand was already crashing down on top of them. Sammy summoned his scythe and managed to slice it, sending it rearing back. It paused for a few moments, as if reevaluating, then lunged again, this time avoiding Sammy’s weapon and knocking Buddy overboard. 

No sooner did Buddy hit the ink than the hand grabbed him and hoisted him in the air. 

Norman roared. “ _ LET HIM GO!!! _ ” 

The boat shook as Norman leaped off and grabbed ahold of the limb. He ignored Henry and Sammy’s shocked yells, focusing on causing this abomination as much damage as he needed until it let go of Buddy. 

Henry watched, somewhat awestruck, as his friend tore into this monstrous thing that held a kid they both swore to protect. His gaze caught his gold-tipped fingers, then focused on the ink below them. 

He crouched down and spread his fingers over the ink; it moved with his gesture. Henry focused on commanding the ink to move, raising his hands along in a sort of pulling motion. The ink reacted and lifted. Henry shaped it into a bullet shape, then shoved his hands forward, propelling the projectile into the back of the hand. 

The disembodied appendage let out a rumble and shook, but it neither let go of Buddy nor dislodged Norman. 

Henry used his powers again, this time rolling and compressing the ink until it became a sharpened solid. A small smile touched Henry’s lips as he sent the shell hurtling into its target. 

The hand’s glove ruptured, spewing ink all over the place. Its fingers uncurled and released Buddy, who barely grabbed the edge of the boat. Norman, however, was sent flying across the tunnel, being saved from the river’s grasp by a discarded palate. 

Unfortunately, the hand wasn’t gone, nor was it going to leave without causing some damage. It swung straight at the other boat and Henry. Henry tried to pull up a wall of ink, but didn’t get it up in time. It broke like paper and the hand smashed against his right side. 

Henry felt his bones snap and he struck the wall of the tunnel, barely hearing his own cry of pain over the crunch of his broken body. The next thing he was aware of was something dragging him down into the ebony river. He knew he should fight it, but the frigid embrace soothed the burning stabs of pain rocking through his body. 

He let it take him. 

= = =

“Henry!” Sammy cried. He saw blood spatter the wall Henry slammed into, then watched in horror as Henry plunged lifelessly into the ink. 

Sammy didn’t think twice. 

He dove into the lake. 

He immediately felt that familiar, vice-like pull dragging him down, but he kept his focus on that glimmer of gold in the distance. He used the drag as a boost and soon made out the shape of a man with gold-tipped hands. Sammy seized a fistful of fabric and hooked his arms under the listless body. 

It was when he turned to swim back up that he realized the danger he was in. 

He couldn’t swim back up. It was like trying to swim through cold syrup. His head started pounding and his chest tightened up from want of air. Sammy was on the verge of panic when he noticed the wisps of gold ink being pulled from Henry’s hands and toward some nearby destination before getting sucked through something and vanishing. 

Sammy’s eyes widened. Was that a drain pipe down there? He made a split-second decision and followed the specks of gold, soon finding himself flowing through a strong current that was speeding up by the second. During the swift travel, he staved off his pounding pulse by focusing on keeping his grip around Henry secure. 

No way was he going to lose the old man now. 

Finally, when Sammy thought his head would burst, he suddenly plunged downward, his head breaking the surface before landing in a pond. He kicked like mad, finding himself able to touch the bottom, and redoubled his efforts to haul Henry to the nearby shore. 

When the ink got too shallow to support Henry, Sammy resorted to dragging the both of them until they fell to the ground. Sammy took a few seconds to catch his breath, then realized Henry might not have his. 

“Henry?” he called, turning the man to his back and checking for a pulse. It was there. Weak, but there. 

But Henry wasn’t breathing. Sammy turned him to his side, “Come on, come on,” he growled, “Please don’t let this happen.” He shook Henry and tried thumping his back a few times. 

Nothing. 

Sammy shook his head, “Curse it, old man, you gonna make me do CPR on you?” Answering for himself, Sammy turned Henry onto his back and muttered the correct hand placement to himself, giving two solid compressions before Henry’s body convulsed. 

Henry gagged and retched, turning to his side and throwing up ink. 

Sammy sat back on his heels, “Dang it, Henry, do you want to give me a heart attack?” 

Henry gave no reply. He wheezed and clutched his bleeding side. 

“Henry?” Sammy asked, gently moving around to crouch in front of Henry, “Hey, you okay?” 

Henry’s eyes blinked open a few times. They rolled around, bleary and unfocused, before shutting again. Henry’s breathing was still heavy and unsteady. He was obviously in pain and would rather not be awake. 

Sammy hummed anxiously. He glanced at the ink around them, which seemed to be creeping closer, then to the tunnel behind them, dark and ominous, then to Henry, who was now passed out. 

Sammy shook his head and cursed his luck with a string of vulgarities that definitely would have earned him a swat upside the head. 

Shaking aside the fluttering thoughts, Sammy gently turned Henry over and managed to shoulder him in a fireman’s carry while making sure the man’s uninjured side was the only one he handled. Sammy carried his burden a few paces into the mouth of the tunnel, then let Henry down to lean against the wall. 

Even though he knew nothing about how to check for broken bones or how to treat them, Sammy eased off Henry’s shirt and started wiping ink away from his injured side. The flesh revealed underneath was a splotched combination of red, blue, and purple. Skin was broken and bleeding around his ribs and arm. 

Sammy immediately feared ink infecting the wounds. His eyes caught Henry's still-glowing fingertips. An idea came to him, but could it even work? Regardless, he had to try something. 

He picked up Henry’s left hand and rubbed gold ink off the ends of his fingers. Getting a decent amount on his hand, Sammy spread it around and managed to get an even sheen over his fingers. Surprised that this plan might actually work, Sammy tested it by holding his hand close to Henry’s ink-covered face. 

The black stuff slid away like water. Sammy gasped in amazement and cleaned off the rest of Henry’s head, using this new trick to clear the remaining splotches on his injured side. 

Then Sammy remembered the reason he tried this in the first place. 

He cursed his distractedness and gently set a few fingers by Henry’s wounds. He thought about grabbing any of that disgusting ink that may have gotten in and forcing it out. 

It worked. Black drops oozed from the wounds and dripped away. Then the gold stuff on Sammy’s hands started burning. Perhaps it realized it was on the wrong hands and wouldn’t let itself remain. 

Sammy leaped up with a yell, shaking his hand in an effort to get the gold off his hand. When that didn’t work, he tried to wipe it off with his other hand, which only spread the burning substance. Then he tried to wipe it on his pants, but that didn’t work either. Finally, his eye caught the ink pond. Now desperate and the burning reaching an agonizing level, Sammy rushed over and plunged his hands into the black liquid. 

He could have sworn he heard his hands sizzle as they were quenched. A blessed chill washed over his fingers. He relaxed with a sigh, then pulled back sharply as the ink tried to start climbing up his arms. 

So, both gold and black ink were a danger to him, some way or another. The gold didn’t want him to the point of hurting him, and the black did want him to the point of trying to drag him in. 

Sammy hissed another swear. This place was absolutely loony. 

He turned and made his way back to Henry. Well, no more ink, at least. Something still needed to be done about the bleeding, though. 

Sammy had just finished the thought then he realized Henry wasn’t bleeding anymore. The inkling gently touched the once-broken skin, finding it scabbed over. Then the more he stared, the more he could swear he saw the wounds actively healing. 

“Should I be celebrating or concerned?” Sammy asked no one. Yes, it was amazing that Henry was healing at this rate, but Sammy only knew something like that happening to ink beings. He shook his head.  _ Stop worrying _ , he told himself. Henry’s still human. He bled red, after all, and Sammy got the black out of him. 

He’s fine. Henry’s fine. He’d recover. 

It didn’t help the doubts creeping up in Sammy’s mind. The more he looked at the broken, unconscious man, the more Sammy had the feeling he’d… somehow seen it before. Except… something about that time… was much…  _ much _ worse. His mind brought up feelings of being so utterly broken. Sammy rubbed his head. No, he’d only feel like that if… if Henry…. 

Geez, he didn’t even want to finish the thought. Henry was the only hope he had left. The only hope  _ any _ of them had. 

Sammy then started to realize his dependence on Henry. Henry was the only reason he was sane again. The only reason he had a flicker of a chance to escape his prison. Sammy then wondered what he would do if Henry… wasn’t around. 

He didn’t like what he came up with. 

The inkling growled at himself and rubbed his face, brushing aside the morbid thoughts. He sighed deeply. Realizing how exhausted he was, Sammy pulled up some wall beside Henry. He then made the effort to slip Henry’s shirt back over his body. Didn’t want to leave him too exposed. 

Hoping the others weren’t panicking too much, Sammy settled against the wall and dozed off into a light sleep. 

“ _ AUGH! _ ” 

Sammy startled awake. His attention snapped to Henry, who was doubled over, clutching his side and arm. “Henry?” Sammy turned to gently hold the man’s shoulders, “Henry, it’s okay, you’re okay.” 

Henry’s head tilted back against the wall, “Why didn’t you let me die?” 

Sammy couldn’t believe what he just heard. “I’m sorry,  _ what?! _ ”

“I just would have woken up back in the safehouse-” 

“Okay, you can stop right there,” Sammy interrupted him, “You’re delirious.” 

“No, I’m serious.” Henry looked Sammy dead in the eyes, “You already know this. I can’t stay dead. You’ve seen it happen, I’ve had the sore jaw to prove that.” 

Sammy blinked. “You… what? Did you crack your skull, Henry, are you insane?” 

“No,” Henry sat up a bit straighter, “I’m not insane. Ever since I’ve been in here, as long as I set markers, the time loop and other time-breaking stuff cranks time back if I die. So any time I do, I just show up again, perfectly fine. I don’t know why you don’t remember though, maybe something with it “technically” not happening, but I don’t think about it too hard. Time loop curse stuff, I guess.” 

Sammy’s jaw dropped a little farther. 

Henry lifted a hand, “Point is, you could have let me drown and everything be fine. I don’t stay dead.” 

Something in Sammy snapped. He stood sharply and tensed his hands into claws, “ _THAT…_ _DOESN’T…_ ** _MATTER!!!_** ” 

His voice echoed several times down the tunnel, and his volume barely dropped as he continued, “The fact you  _ can _ die in  _ any  _ regard means there’s a chance we’ll  _ lose  _ you! A chance we’ll be without  _ hope  _ again! A chance the  _ ink  _ will  _ claim  _ us again! Maybe this time for  _ good! _ ” 

He dropped down and took Henry’s shoulders, “I  _ can’t  _ risk that, Henry,  _ you understand? _ I  _ can’t  _ have come  _ this far _ to have my hope  _ crushed! _ Because if it  _ is _ , I-... I don’t…” his voice broke and he hung his head, “I don’t think I’ll ever get it back,” he finished in a hoarse whisper. 

Henry held his breath. His heart thumped harder while his mouth opened but made no answer. He didn’t  _ have  _ an answer for that. He didn’t even consider-... 

“I-... Sammy, I’m sorry, I-... I’m so ashamed of myself. I didn’t even think about that. That was so selfish, I-...” Henry’s voice caught in his throat, “I’ve become so flippant about my own life… and don’t even give a thought about how it might affect others…” His head lifted to the ceiling, “Oh, stars, what’s become of me?” Tears threatened his eyes, “What has this studio poisoned me with?” 

Sammy sighed, “Hey, stop beating yourself up, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“But doesn’t it?” Henry asked, his eyes still watery, “We thought I was untouched by the curse, but I’m being affected anyway.” 

“I think that’s just the fact you’re in Joey Drew Studios,” Sammy said dryly. 

Henry scoffed, “That’s… not that funny.” 

“You’re smiling.” 

“I know,” Henry reached up and rubbed his hand over his mouth, then tossed his hand as if lost for words. So, Sammy offered a few more, “Hey, I get it, you’re having a hard time. 414 time loops of being a Demon’s toy will do that. I’m… not without my own experience with things like that. So I get it, really.” He then chuckled and lightly punched Henry’s uninjured shoulder, “That’s why we traumatized blockheads gotta keep each other accountable.” 

Henry smiled and chuckled. He rubbed his eyes, then nodded in acceptance, “Yeah. I guess we do.” 

Sammy then sat down and gave Henry a slightly more serious look, “Okay, so, say honestly now, how are you feeling?” 

“Huuuh… like I’ve been swatted around by a giant hand and almost drowned.” 

Sammy looked unamused. 

“Alright, it still hurts. I know we should really get a move on from… wherever we are. But I’m not sure I can get too far.” Henry glanced first at the tunnel, then the shore and ink pond, above which was a spillover pipe spewing ink. “Where are we exactly?” he asked, “Some kind of sewer?” 

“Somewhere below the river. Your gold ink got sucked down here and I followed it and got spat out through that pipe.” 

Henry glanced up at him, “You… what? Followed my ink? A-actually, forget that. Start from me getting swatted and go from there.” 

Sammy laughed and gave him an abridged version. 

“So where do we go from here?” Henry asked. 

“Gimme a sec,” Sammy said, walking into and dissolving through the wall. 

“Wh-... he can still do that?” Henry asked the now-blank wall. He sat back and gently rubbed his injured side. Definitely had a broken arm and several cracked ribs. Didn’t hurt as much as it should, though.

Well, shock was a heck of a drug. 

He inspected the spillover, then the tunnel he sat in. Seemed like the tunnel ran the same route as the river. Maybe they could follow it to the Harbor. 

Then the hair on the back of Henry’s neck stood up. A shiver writhed up his spine. He suddenly had the acute feeling he wasn’t alone. He looked around into the darkness of the tunnel. If something was in there, he wouldn’t have seen it until it was right on top of him. He was suddenly aware of how exposed he was, alone, injured, and unarmed. 

Goosebumps started creeping up his arms. He thought he heard something scuttling around above his head. His ears tingled with a sound he couldn’t actually hear. 

“... Hello?” he asked, not lifting his voice much higher than the sloshing ink. 

The dark gave no response. 

“Who’s there?” 

Silence. 

Henry felt the presence close in. It felt like it was inspecting him. Or maybe deciding if he was worth eating. 

Henry shook away the latter thought. “What do you want?” he asked the dark. 

A frigid grip, like a hand made of ice, wrapped around his very core. Whatever this thing was, it was evil. Henry could tell. It wanted something he had, and Henry had little doubt it would be willing to kill. 

Henry’s hand drifted up and gripped his chest over his heart, “Who are you?” he asked again. 

The cold hand tightened, making Henry’s back arch off the wall, then it suddenly released him and vanished. 

Sammy stepped back through the wall, “Ha! There’s this whole network of tunnels running under the river! This one even leads straight to the Harbor! I think the Lost Ones use these to travel around-“ he noticed Henry’s tension and paled face, “Uh… what happened?” 

Henry let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He couldn’t sense the presence anymore, but that cold grip left a still-fading chill around his heart. “We… should get going.” 

“Is something wrong?” 

A line of lights running along the top of the tunnel flickered to life, chasing away some scurrying shadow. Henry stared down the length of the tunnel, “Not yet,” he answered, “but I imagine there might be. Also the others are likely getting a bit concerned.” 

“Aw man!” Sammy exclaimed, “I should have popped into the Harbor and told them what happened!” 

Henry snickered, “Don’t suppose you can bring people with you?” 

“No, not on my own, not unless there’s a circle connecting both sides. And if there weren’t, we’d probably end up getting dragged into the Puddles.” 

“Walking it is, then,” Henry huffed, getting himself to his feet, using the wall for support. 

Sammy wasted no time in telling Henry to lean on him and made sure he gave the inkling some of his weight. Henry’s legs were wobbling as they began to trek down the tunnel, but he found surer footing eventually. They walked in silence for some time until Sammy noticed Henry’s head dipping and his steps faltering. “Hey,” Sammy said, “you okay?” 

Henry grunted in response. 

“Henry!” 

“‘M fine, just… can you keep talking? Or keep me talking? I need something else to focus on.” 

Sammy nodded, “Of course. Uh, let’s see. Well, how’s the home life suiting you? You married that Linda dame, right?” 

Henry smiled, “Yeah, I did. Had to wait until after the war, though. But once I came back-” he chuckled, “-Linda and I were saying “I do” two days later.” 

“Two days? You didn’t waste any time.” 

“I had just spent four years overseas, we weren’t waiting any longer!” 

Sammy’s head tilted back as he laughed, “I can imagine! So did you, ah,” he gave Henry a mischievous look, “ _ get to work _ , if ya know what I mean?” 

Henry rolled his eyes, “Real mature, Lawrence. We waited a year, but yeah we did. Had a son the next fall. Jonathan.” 

“Good name. You have any more?”

Henry’s step slowed slightly and his eyes became sad, “We… did. When Jon was three, we had a daughter named Charlotte.” He said nothing for a few moments.

Sammy hesitated, then finally prompted Henry’s silence with a gentle, “What happened?” 

“The flu. It hit our town hard. We were so out in the middle of nowhere, our hospital hadn’t gotten a reliable supply of the vaccine. Charlotte was six at the time and Linda was three months pregnant.” 

“They both caught it?” 

Henry nodded, “It cost Charlotte her life, and Linda the baby. After that, it became unsafe for Linda to conceive again, so we had to stop trying.” 

Sammy felt his heart ache for his friend, “I’m so sorry.” 

Henry sighed, “It was hard, but I think we did okay with Jon.” 

Sammy rolled with the topic change, “Wait, let me guess, he’s the spitting image of his father.” 

“Oh, the resemblance is  _ uncanny _ .” 

Sammy barked a laugh, the echo bouncing off the tunnel wall a few times. The two again let the silence fall between them until Henry spoke up. “Can I ask something? What was it that brought you back?” 

“What?” 

“Like, Buddy had his memories from the start, Norman had his but needed them to be knocked loose, Allison and Tom had to be reminded, but what was it that made you remember?” 

“Heh. Quite literally? Your name.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“Uh…” Sammy sighed in thought, “Let’s see if I can explain. When I first came out of the Machine, Joey kind of… brainwashed me. Locked my mind away into the Prophet’s. Sometimes I could open the door a bit and reach out, but the Prophet’s blind loyalty and naivety kept shutting me in again. It came to a point where I couldn’t open the door anymore. The key to open it was a name. The name of a believed Betrayer. A name that none were allowed to utter.” 

“My name?” 

Sammy nodded. “When you finally told the Prophet your name, it, ah, blew the door open, so to speak. Thing is, I still had to fight the Prophet to regain myself. It wanted to keep me in my place, chained down with hopelessness and anger and blind faith. That struggle is what took it to Joey’s office. What made it attack you. But… you wouldn’t give up on me. The so-called Betrayer wouldn’t betray me. I think, in that way, I was able to use the Prophet’s own beliefs against it and destroy it.” 

Henry tilted his head, “Is that why you gagged me the first time we met? So I couldn’t say my name?” 

“Probably.” 

“Hm.” Henry glanced at his friend, noticing something about the jet-black form. “You might be made of ink, but I think the maestro I knew is still there. 

“What do you mean?”

Henry smiled mischievously, then sang a bar of the song Sammy had sung earlier in Alice’s domain, “ _ ‘All eyes on me-e’ _ .”

Sammy’s head rolled with his eyes, “Oh, gosh, you  _ heard _ that?” 

“Of course I did! Sammy, it was extraordinary! I haven’t seen you work your musical magic like that is over thirty years!” 

Sammy scoffed, “It’s embarrassing.” 

Henry tensed, suddenly serious, “Woah, hey, no it’s not. That’s the ink trying to keep your humanity under.” 

Sammy gave him a confused look. 

“Sammy, listen. You haven’t seen it, but you’re looking more and more human by the day. I mean, look at yourself, Your face has become more distinct. The ink isn’t flowing over you anymore, it’s acting more like skin and less like a… a shell.” 

Sammy considered that, but still seemed unsure. 

Henry lifted an eyebrow, “Hey, you want to be human again, right?” 

Sammy nodded slowly. 

“Then stop trying to keep your humanity drowned!” Henry exclaimed, as if Sammy was missing something very obvious. 

Sammy smiled and the two chuckled, but the mirth dissolved in an instant when Henry suddenly started coughing. His knees buckled and he collapsed, wheezing. Sammy tried to keep Henry’s unfocused eyes open, “Henry? Henry, stay with me! Henry!” 

The man coughed up blood and fell to his side. Sammy kept trying to keep him awake, but he could tell Henry was losing his grip on consciousness. Henry’s head lolled, and his eyes rolled upward before closing as his body fell limp. 

Sammy spat a curse into the tunnel. He cursed again under his breath as he picked up Henry’s ragdolled body and began to carry him toward the Harbor. 


	28. In The Dark

Buddy and Allison were playing a game of cards in the Lost Harbor. Sammy had appeared a few days earlier, carrying an unconscious Henry. The Lost Ones, still assuming Sammy was the Prophet despite his adamant insistence that he wasn’t, were eager to assist their “Prophet” and “Creator.” Things had settled easily, and the group found themselves welcomed among the Lost. 

The peaceful card game was interrupted when Henry came storming around the back side of a building, Norman following him. 

“ _ Henry, could you just- keep your head on for two seconds- _ ” 

Henry wheeled on him, “Oh, _you’re_ one to talk! I just pulled the very _life force_ out of a body and you expect me to ‘keep my head’!?” 

Allison set down her deck, “Henry?” she asked, not raising her voice. 

“Sometimes I think it was  _ better  _ when the Demon tore your head off!” Henry yelled, turning away, “It did a better job of  _ shutting you up! _ ” He stormed off toward the river. 

Norman was left standing there, looking hurt. Allison and Buddy went over to him.

“Norman? What happened?” Allison asked. 

“ _ He-... I… _ ” Norman sighed and shook his head. “ _ Find Sammy and Tom, we need to- talk. All of us. _ ” 

Sammy tented his fingers. “He pulled… the soul… out of a Lost One?” 

“ _ Yeah. An’ then the ink reclaimed it _ .” 

“Why is he mad at you?” Allison asked. 

“ _ I told him it wasn’t- a big deal. That the Lost weren’t really alive. _ ” Norman’s arms crossed, “ _ He took that somethin’ personal, for some reason _ .” 

Allison tilted her head toward him, “Well, did you ask?” 

“... _ No _ ,” said Norman, glancing away. 

Several beats of silence passed as everyone tried to figure out what to do. 

“Should I go try and talk to him?” Sammy suggested. 

Norman waved him away, “ _ No, I’ll go. Need to do this properly _ .” He left the others in search of Henry. 

It didn’t take long to find him. The Harbor was small and Henry tended to go to one spot at the edge of the river when he needed to think. Norman spotted Henry staring into the ink river. 

The man was holding something, but when he caught sight of Norman, he tensed up and tossed the object into the river. He turned away when Norman sat beside him. 

“ _ I know what I said, and I wanna know why it’s wrong. _ ” 

“What, so you can insult me some more?” Henry snipped bitterly. 

“ _ No, I-... I just know we-... there’s not-... _ ” 

Henry scoffed, “Speaker for a mouth and you still get tongue-tied.” 

“ _ I- didn’t mean to insult you, Henry _ ,” Norman said, “ _ I just… don’t know what I did wrong. Please, help me figure- it out so I can apologize. _ ” 

Henry glanced at him from the corner of his eye. He then looked away and swallowed hard. “The Lost  _ are  _ alive, Norman. They sense, they think, they  _ feel _ . That soul in my hands, even if it was just a part of their whole, they were  _ screaming _ . Screaming to be let out,  _ begging me  _ to set them free, but I  _ couldn’t! _ I couldn’t keep the ink from reclaiming them.” His head hung, “These are  _ people _ , Norman! Stuck in in this torture that they can’t get out of!” 

Norman realized the gravity of that revelation, “ _ An’ I said it wasn’t a big deal _ .” 

“Yes, you did,” Henry snapped, not bothering to hide his accusing tone. 

Norman’s chest tightened. His head lowered as he sought for something to say. He couldn’t think of anything other than the simple truth. “ _ I’m sorry, Henry _ .” 

Henry looked Norman’s direction, then turned to the black river with a sigh, “I’m… I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that. You didn’t know.” 

The two fell silent with mutual understanding, the tension between them unravelling. 

Norman held out his hand. “ _ So, we good? _ ” 

Henry gave him a small smile, “Yeah,” he shook the offered hand, “Yeah, we’re good.” 

Norman nodded, “ _ Thanks, Henry. By the way, what was that you were holdin’ when I came up here? _ ” 

“Oh yeah, I haven’t shown you yet, have I?” Henry lifted his hands over the river, a blob of ink rising with the gesture. “I did it on a whim while fighting the river hand, but it’s useful for other things. I call it forging.” 

As he spoke, Henry shaped the ink into a wide cylinder, then let some of his gold ink seep into the object. The ink solidified into a recognizable flat spring, a Slinky, which Henry tossed to Norman. 

Norman played with the coil for a few seconds, turning it in his hands, “ _ Huh! you’re just finding out all sorts of cool stuff, aren’t ya _ .” He tossed the toy back to Henry. 

Henry caught it and let it dissolve back into ink, “Well, I’m sure your light is equally cool.” 

“ _ Nah _ ,” Norman turned on his light to prove his point, “ _ All I can do is be an oversized flashlight and show off souls in-!!! _ ” 

Both of them suddenly jumped up and backed away from the explosion of gold light in the river. Norman had turned his light off from the shock. Henry crept back toward the ink, his hands lit up and a concerned expression on his face. 

“Norman. Bring that back up.” 

Norman’s soul light turned on again and angled into the river. As they watched, thousands of gold lights shone back at them. Pieces of souls drifting in the abyss flickered under Norman’s light. Henry’s breath caught in his throat as he noticed the embers drift upward toward the surface. He pointed at them, “Focus your light on one.” 

“ _ But why- _ ” 

“Do it!” 

Norman’s light narrowed from the wide searchlight to a smaller beam. One of the bigger lights, which Henry realized was a fuller soul, started lingering before climbing up higher. 

Henry reached into the ink, ready to grab the soul when it came into reach. 

“ _ Uh, Henry? Are you sure this- is a good idea? I mean, what are you going to do with it once you- grab it? _ ” 

“I don’t know, I just know I can’t leave it in there!” 

Henry cupped his hands around the glowing light and slowly drew it up and out of the river. Ink drained away from his hands, leaving the light behind. 

Norman peered at the thing in Henry’s hands. “ _ What’s it feel like? _ ” 

Henry didn’t look up, “Like a warm, squirming marble.” 

“. _.. Huh. _ ” 

“It’s broken,” Henry stated. 

“ _ An’ you can tell… _ ” 

“I just can.” 

Even though his head was expressionless, Norman’s confusion was obvious. “ _... Uh… huh. _ ” 

Henry turned back toward the river. He looked ready to dunk the soul in again. 

“ _ W-wait a minute, Henry, _ ” Norman called, “ _ Didn’t you just say you couldn’t leave the thing in? Also, have you figured out if we’re gonna try an’ put that in a body or somethin’? _ ” 

Henry still didn’t spare him a glance, “It’ll form one on its own, once the soul is intact.” 

“ _ Could ya please- stop bein’ so cryptic? _ ” Norman huffed. 

Henry plunged his hands back into the river, but kept them clasped around the soul. “The smaller pieces can find this one if we give it the chance. The souls want to be whole, but they’re often too far apart to recognize each other. Get your light over here.” 

Norman complied, even though he had no idea what was happening. 

“Your light helps the voices showing under it to quiet down. That then makes it easier for the pieces to find each other,” Henry explained. 

“ _ Ya say that like it’s simple. _ ” 

“It’s cursed ink magic, what do you want from it.” 

Norman nodded, “ _ Fair _ .” 

Sammy came up behind them, “What’s this about cursed ink magic?” 

“ _ We’re usin’ a big soul piece to go- fishin’ for the rest of it _ .” 

Sammy gave him an odd look, “I’m sorry. You’re what?” 

“ _ Yeah, it makes about that much sense, too _ .” 

Still confused but assuming the argument was over, Sammy stepped up to Henry’s other side and knelt down, peering into the river and the shimmering lights within. “Oh, stars.” 

“ _ Nope. Souls _ .” 

Sammy glared at Norman, “Henry, what exactly are you hoping to accomplish?” 

Henry didn’t respond. 

“Henry?” Sammy asked. 

No response. He didn’t even move. 

“ _Henry?_ ” Norman turned off his light and laid a hand on Henry’s shoulder, “ _You okay?_ ” 

Still nothing. 

Sammy knelt down and leaned over to get a view of Henry’s face. The man’s jaw was clenched tight and beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. Sammy, however, was more concerned about his eyes. 

A violent red glow shone from Henry’s eyes, the color occasionally flickering with black and gold. 

“ _ Is he okay? _ ” Norman asked. 

“I… don’t know.” 

Without warning, Henry was yanked forward, as if some giant weight latched onto his arms with the goal to pull him into the river. Thankfully, Sammy and Norman caught him before his head went under. 

The two began to pull Henry back, also dragging up whatever it was that had pulled him down. It didn’t take them long to realize it was an ink-covered body. 

“ _ Who… is that? _ ” Norman asked as they laid both Henry and the body onto the ground. 

Henry’s hands were sunk deep into the ink-covered chest. His eyes were still glowing, but he’d begun to stir. 

“Henry?” Sammy hissed, “Can you hear me?” 

“Shush.” 

Sammy straightened up, “He can hear me.” 

“I said the soul would… would form a body,” Henry insisted, kneeling by the body with both hands still sunk into its chest. 

Norman’s head tilted, “ _ You’re not lookin’ too peachy. _ ” 

“I’m fine.” Henry eased one hand out of the body, his fingers still alight with his gold ink. He brought the free hand close to the head and made a swiping motion. 

The ink barely moved. 

“ _ So what’s wrong? _ ” Norman asked. 

Henry shook his head, “I… think it’s just another of the Lost.” 

“You don’t sound so sure,” said Sammy. 

Henry’s free hand combed through his hair, “I don’t get it. The soul should have been enough, why isn’t it doing anything?” 

Sammy hummed in agreement, “Especially with a full soul. Most of the Lost only have shards, yet they’re walking around just fine.” 

“ _ Could it have somethin’ to do with... _ ” Norman wagged a flattened hand, _ “an’ I’m just spitballin’ here, the fact that you’ve still got a death grip on it’s life source? _ ” 

Henry considered that, then gently uncurled his fingers from around the soul and pulled his other hand free. He felt the soul shift, then a gold light pulsed once, sending a shock through the body and making it solidify more, pulling itself into a more recognizably human shape. 

The three gathered realized it wasn’t the emaciated form of a Lost One, nor did it have any of the recognizable features of a toon. It was more like an ink-covered mannequin, akin to Sammy’s form. 

Sammy stared at it, “Huh. Another inkling, perhaps?” 

“Maybe.” Henry kept his hands on the body, “There’s still a lot of excess ink I can’t get off. And they’re still not moving.” 

“ _ Maybe I can do somethin’ _ ,” Norman offered, sitting at the figure’s head. 

Buddy barked from down the path. He and Allison came running up. “What on earth have you three dragged up?” Allison asked. 

The three men looked at the body, then each other, then gave a collective shrug toward the angel and wolf. 

Norman had mostly ignored Buddy and Allison’s approach and wrapped his fingers around the inked head. The gold cel appeared, projected on the floor. A few moments of static, and the cel filled with writhing black as panicked cries and desperate pleas howled from Norman’s speaker. 

Henry clamped his hands around his ears, “Norman, turn it off! Please!” 

The sounds ceased, leaving a few echoes to linger around the stone walls. 

“What… was that,” gasped Allison. Buddy’s eyes had blanked and he let out a whine. 

“The Puddles. The Well of Voices, the Machine, whatever you call it,” said Henry, sounding dazed. “There’s still a part of this person stuck in there.” 

“But… how?” Sammy asked, “You got all of their soul.” 

Henry thought about it. He glanced at the body, then at a nearby Lost One, then finally at the river. “What if… there’s something other than just the soul?” 

Norman hadn’t moved from his place, “ _ Meaning? _ ” 

“Well, think about it,” said Henry, “Old doctors thought the heart was the source of what made a person who they are until they found out it was actually the brain, but it didn’t make the heart any less important. What if… the soul is like the heart, the thing that keeps the body alive, and there’s something else that keeps the mind alive?” 

Buddy produced his pad and scribbled something. [Like, their sentient consciousness?]

Henry’s eyes lit up, “Consciousness! Yes!” 

“So what do we do?” Allison asked. 

Without answering her, Henry dragged the body to the edge of the river, lying it supine with the head toward the ink. “Norman, help me with this.” 

“Care to explain?” asked Sammy. 

“If Norman can get a real-time feed through, then maybe with him and I working together, we can get the consciousness to find the soul.” 

Sammy crossed his arms, “Henry, do you even know what you’re saying?” 

“Not a blessed clue, but I’m going to try.” 

Sammy’s hand met his forehead, “Ooookay.” 

Henry and Norman knelt on either side of the body, Norman with a hand on its chest and his light on the river, while Henry once more submerged his gold-tipped hands into the ink. 

The feed Norman picked up saw nothing but darkness and heard nothing but screams. Thankfully, Norman was able to drown out the buzzing voices by forcing static through his speaker. 

Sammy stood beside Allison and Buddy, watching and waiting for anything to happen. Allison leaned closer to Sammy, “Do you think Henry’s on to something?” 

Sammy opened his mouth, then closed it. “I… don’t know what to think,” he finally said with a shrug. 

[What if he does manage to bring the inkling back to life?] asked Buddy’s pen. 

Sammy inhaled slowly, “Well, that could mean all sorts of things. For one, we’d know that there’s some kind of distinction between the soul and consciousness, which seem to animate the body and mind, respectively. It… may also mean that the whole ‘setting them free’ thing may be one step closer to coming to fruition.” 

Allison smiled, “I know Henry will like that.” 

“Yes, he’s… very adamant about emptying the Machine of its victims,” Sammy said with a nod. “To be quite honest, I believe I share his sentiments. The Puddles, the Well, whatever you decide to call it, it’s… not a good place.” 

Buddy whined, apparently in agreement. 

Noticing someone was missing, Sammy glanced around. “Say, where’s Tom?” 

“Where do you think?” Allison said with a smirk. 

Sammy’s eyes rolled. “Of course.” 

Then, Buddy’s keen ears heard Henry pull up something from the river. He turned to see the man again crouched over the body with his hands closed over something. The wolf tapped Sammy and pointed. 

Henry didn’t know what to do with the shifting orb of cold electricity in his hand, so he shoved it into the forehead of the body in front of him. The result was instantaneous. 

The black ink snapped into place and changed color. In the blink of an eye, a man lay on the ground. His skin was the sepia shade that used to saturate the entire studio. His clothes were varied shades of tans and blacks. Even his features were all intact, face, hair, and all. 

Buddy recognized him immediately. 

The man sat up with a yelp. He took a sharp breath, then immediately started asking questions in a panic. “Who are you? W-what are you? Where am I? Why is it so quiet? Why are my thoughts so loud!?” 

Henry laid his hands on the man’s shoulders. “Son, hey! Hey, look at me, look at me, okay? Look at my eyes. Breathe. Breathe. Calm down. There you go, good. We’re not going to hurt you.” 

The man glanced at Buddy. “... Why is there a Boris staring at me?” 

“Uh….” Henry also glanced at Buddy, then back to the man with a sigh, “We’ll get to that. First thing. Do you remember your name?” 

The man inaudibly mouthed, “ _ I still remember my name… _ ” Then he blinked and answered clearly, “It… Jacob. My name’s Jacob.” 

Henry nodded reassuringly. “Jacob. My name is Henry. I’m… honestly not exactly sure how to explain what’s been going on, but I promise we can fill you in. Before we do that, I need to ask you. What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Jacob’s hand drifted to rub the back of his neck, almost as if he wasn’t fully in control of the motion. “... Pain. I think… I remember a gun going off. Mister Drew was…” his hands started curling around his head as he breaths quickened, “He… I think he… oh no no no no I think… I… No! No no no, I’m…! The voices…! It’s too quiet…!” 

“Hey!” Henry grabbed Jacob’s shoulders, letting his gold ink light up his eyes, “Jacob, listen to me! You need to calm down.” 

Jacob’s attention immediately snapped to Henry’s eyes. His own widened with awe. “ _ You _ . I’ve seen you.  _ We’ve  _ seen you. The Gold One.” 

“The… what?” 

“The Gold One,” Jacob repeated as his hand touched Henry’s chest over his soul, “The one that can escape. We’ve seen you. We’ve wanted to follow you.” The dazed spell broke and he looked up, “How did you get me out?” 

Henry glanced to the river, “I… uh… had your soul and helped your consciousness find it. I’m honestly not quite sure, but-” 

“Can you kill me?” 

“W-...” Henry blinked, “What?” 

“Please, I-... I’ve been here for too long. I don’t really know who I am anymore. I know the rest of the world believes I’m dead. I don’t want to live without my humanity anymore.” Jacob shifted to his knees and folded his hands in front of him, “Please, release me from this… this curse! Let me pass on, please! Free me, I beg you!” 

Henry held his hands up, “Jacob, please, you don’t know what you’re asking.” 

“Yes, I do! That’s why I’m asking! I don’t want to be part of this inky abyss anymore. Please… please…” Jacob’s hands fell and curled around himself, “let me die. I want to pass on. I don’t want the puddles to bring me back. Please. I know you can.” 

“ _ Henry, _ ” Norman called. 

Henry gestured for Jacob to wait where he was. Everyone took a few steps away from Jacob, huddling in a circle. Buddy showed what he’d been writing. 

[I know him. He’s Jacob Hofstan, and was in the Art Department when I worked here.] 

Henry’s eyes widened, “The Jacob from your story?” 

Buddy nodded. 

Henry fell silent into thought. 

“Henry, you can’t really be thinking about doing this,” said Allison. 

Henry shook his head, “I’m not sure. Yes, it would be freeing him, which is what I’ve wanted to do in the first place, but… it seems… wrong. Like I’m murdering him.” 

Sammy scoffed, “You aren’t.  _ Joey  _ murdered him. You’d be letting him get the rest he’s been robbed of.” 

“But-... well, I guess,” Henry muttered. 

Buddy looked at Norman. 

“Norman?” asked Allison, “What do you think?” 

“ _ I think Henry will do what he thinks is right, and I believe he’ll choose well _ .” 

Henry smiled at him, “Thanks.” 

“So?” Sammy prompted, “What will it be?” 

Henry rubbed the back of his head, “If I don’t grant his request, then there’s the chance the ink will claim him again. If I do… well, I honestly don’t really see a negative.” 

“Besides straight-up killing a man?” Allison argued. 

“These are weird circumstances Allison,” countered Sammy. “Henry won’t have blood on his hands.” 

“Alright, enough,” Henry barked, “Just… give me a chance to talk to him first, then I’ll… make up my mind.” 

Henry broke away from the group and knelt in front of Jacob, who looked at him expectantly. “Are you going to kill me?” 

“No. At least-… Look, I don’t like the idea of killing an innocent man.”

Jacob smiled, “But you won’t be. It’ll be fine. I can be free. I can rest.” 

“Y-yes…” Henry sighed. “Listen. When it comes to… people like you, inklings, I’ve found that hope has an affect on them. It can make their humanity start to show through. It clears their mind and unlocks abilities they’ve lost.” 

“Oh, I don’t think you understand. You have given me hope. Hope of freedom.” 

“But I can give you that freedom without you dying.” 

Jacob whimpered, “No…” 

“As we speak, my friends and I are working to break out of here.” 

“N-no…” Jacob repeated, his head hanging, 

“We can find a way to break the curse. Set you free and see the outside world again.” 

“No,  _ no!” _ Jacob snapped, his hands curling into claws, “Don’t you get it? I was already killed. I remember now, Mister Drew shot me in the back. I was killed but I never died. How long has it been, huh? How long has the world gone on without me? Even if I did get out, what kind of world would I be going back to? Would anyone I knew recognize me? Would they still be alive?” 

Henry started from the outburst, “I-...” 

“I still remember that day I drowned but I never even died. I  _ couldn’t  _ die. But now I can! I can be free of this shell. I can finally have peace.” 

“But you can still live a life,” Henry insisted, “Even with an ink body, you’re still you. You can still be Jacob.” 

“No. No, I can’t. I think you know that. The ink’s not just in my body. I can feel it. It’s in my head, my soul. I can’t escape it even if I leave. We’re all like that. We just want to be free. And the only way to do that is to truly die.” 

Henry hesitated, not wanting to believe him but knowing it was true. 

“Please,” Jacob held his hands out to Henry, “I need this. I need to rest. For real.” 

Henry finally sighed and nodded. “... Okay.” He shifted to sit cross-legged. “What do I need to do?” 

After some discussion with both Jacob and Sammy, they figured a simple exorcism circle was all that was needed. From there, as long as Jacob held still, it was a matter of simply letting the spell do its work. 

Sammy got the circle drawn and Jacob lay over it, perfectly calm. Sammy muttered a few words and Jacob’s form shivered. He then looked at Henry, who was sitting beside him. “Gold One.” 

Henry met his eyes, “Yes?” 

“Promise me you’ll do this for the rest of us? You’re the hope we have now. You will set us free.” 

A few moments of hesitation, and Henry nodded slowly. “Okay. I promise.” 

Jacob smiled and closed his eyes as the spell lifted two auras from his body. One looked like a flame of gold fire, the other, like a small orb of lighting and wind. Before they could disappear, ink strands lept from the river and started clinging to the auras, threatening to envelop them and pull them in. 

“No!” Henry cried, reaching for the black with his gold, “You’re not taking him back!” 

As soon as he touched the ink, it vaporized. Henry kept his hands loosely cupped around the soul and consciousness, protecting them. 

There was a sighed breath, then they vanished into shimmering dust as Jacob’s body turned black and melted away. 

All assembled felt a sense of peace. 

Henry stood up and stared out over the river. Allison laid a hand on his shoulder, “You did the right thing, Henry.” 

“But there’s so many others,” Henry murmured. 

The inklings and toons looked at each other, then quietly backed away, leaving Henry to his thoughts. 


	29. Mixed Signals

It was just a day after Jacob died that Bendy showed up. He roughly seized Henry and threw him down into a hidden cave. A marker statue stood nearby. 

“Yer wastin’ time, old friend,” the demon growled. 

Henry turned to defend himself, “I freed a man. I wanted to figure out how to do it again.”’ 

Bendy snarled at him, “Dat’s great, now stick to da cycle an’ move on.” 

“What do you want from me, Bendy?” 

The toon paused. His expressions shifted; anger, confusion, spite, fear. Almost like he was confused about what he should be feeling. 

Henry sat cross-legged and gently held out an upturned palm, “Bendy, I’m not your enemy. I’m doing my best to help the people here, and I swear, I will help you. But I can’t help you if you don’t let me.” 

Bendy’s face turned to that neutral grin, static and slightly unsettling. 

“What are you hiding, Bendy?” Henry asked, “I want to help you.” 

The devil’s smile wavered. His eyes creased. “I know, I need…” ink tears started spilling over his face, “I… it… I can’t! Henry!” Bendy reached for Henry. In an instant, Henry had the shivering devil in his embrace. The split soul between them gave an odd tug and let Henry feel something that wasn’t his. 

Bendy’s fear. 

No, not fear, it was stronger. Bendy was downright  _ terrified  _ of something. 

“It’s okay, Bendy,” Henry said, hugging Bendy tighter, “I’m here, you don’t have to be afraid.” 

Bendy stopped shaking with an unnatural suddenness. The tenor of his voice shifted, “Yer right.” 

Henry felt murderous rage flare up. It wasn’t right; the fear was still there, but… 

“ _ You're _ da one who should be afraid.” 

Henry let go of Bendy and let his vision blur on the statue before a terrible pain gouged through him. He looked down at his creation holding the sharp ink tendril that was stabbed through his stomach. The more Henry looked, the more Bendy’s expression confused him. One half of his face held that murderous rage, the other held that abject terror and was crying. 

Bendy pulled the tendril away, leaving Henry to fall to his side as his lifeblood spilled over the stone ground. Henry reached for the toon standing over him. Forget the pain, he needed to tell Bendy, “I… don’t care… what you do, or… h-how long it takes me. Whatever… is frightening you,… I’ll be there to… help you. I promise.” 

Bendy reached for Henry’s outstretched hand, but it fell before he could reach it. Henry breathed his last and his eyes glazed over. 

The devil sank to his knees. He bowed his head to the floor and screamed as more inky tears soaked into the stone, mingling with Henry’s blood. 

Buddy and Tom’s ears perked up. 

“Hear something?” Allison asked. 

The group had been looking for Henry but hadn’t found a sign of him anywhere. The only clue they had was the big Bendy statue suddenly vanishing. 

The two Boris toons turned their ears and noses toward the sound. It sounded like someone screamed, but they couldn’t tell who. 

Then a short, black figure rose out of an ink puddle behind them, “Lookin’ fer dis?” 

Everyone whirled around, and a few unsheathed their weapons. All froze in horror when they saw who Bendy was holding. 

Bendy carelessly held up Henry’s lifeless body, gripped by the throat, suspended by an ink tendril. The devil gave the group a sinister grin, “Consider dis a warnin’ ta not keep lollygaggin’.” He carelessly dropped Henry’s body to the ground, “You move on; I’s gettin’ impatient waitin’ fer ya.” With that, Bendy snapped his fingers and vanished into ink drops. 

Buddy was first to Henry’s side, turning him to his back and gasping at the bloody wound in his stomach. He covered his mouth and sat back on his heels, eyes becoming blank circles. 

Sammy knelt on Henry’s other side, his eyes wide and desperate. He took Henry’s shoulders, laid a hand on his chest, pressed his fingers against Henry’s throat. Nothing. A red-laced hallucination stormed Sammy’s mind, taking him back to Alice’s domain, holding Henry’s bloody corpse as he screamed. 

Sammy turned away, holding his head in his hands and bowing it low. His inked body began to drip and run as he let out a low keen. 

Tom held his sobbing wife. Allison kept repeating ‘no’ and ‘why’, soaking Tom’s chest with her tears. 

Norman sat beside Buddy and laid a hand on his shoulder. The boy turned suddenly and gripped Norman in a hug. “ _ We’ll be- okay, Pup. _ ” He didn’t think they would. 

**Time stuttered.**

Henry gasped sharply and flinched, expecting Bendy to kill him again. The devil did have his hand extended, but in a surrendering manner. However, once he saw Henry flinch and saw the fear in his eyes, Bendy shrank back. 

Henry immediately realized his mistake, “No, Bendy, I-I didn’t mean that.” 

“You’re afraid of me,” Bendy rasped. His hands shook and rose to cover his face, “I’m sor-! Henry, I-! It keeps-!” he curled in on himself. Henry reached for him, but malice once more painted the toon’s face as he lashed out, swatting Henry’s hand away. 

“Bendy, please!” Henry pleaded. 

Bendy snarled at him, “Ya wanna help him, Stein? Ya know where t’ find me!” An ink portal appeared in the base of the statue. Bendy turned at the last moment with a pained expression, “Hurry,” he whimpered. 

Henry reached for the retreating toon, but his hands met the cold stone of the statue. He gazed up at the figure, “Since when do you call me ‘Stein’? And who do you mean by ‘him’? Bendy… what’s wrong?” 

The statue gave no reply. 

Henry stood and looked the statue in the eyes, “I’ll find you, Bendy. I’ll find you and help you. I promise.” 

As soon as Henry emerged into the middle of town, he was immediately pounced upon by Buddy, then Allison, then Sammy. 

“ _ H-how!? _ ” Norman exclaimed, picking Henry out of the group and off the floor, “ _ We saw you! Dead! That little devil killed you! _ ” 

Henry smirked, “Well thanks for not punching me, at least.” 

Norman dropped him. 

Allison turned him around and held his head between her hands, “Is it really-? I mean, are you-? How is this-?” 

Henry opened his mouth to try and explain, but he was turned around again and met with a slap across the face, courtesy of Sammy. “I thought I told you  _ not to die! _ That these inky resurrections didn’t matter!” 

“Good to see you too, Sammy,” Henry grumbled, rubbing his stinging cheek. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t really have much choice in the matter.” 

Sammy cursed Henry, then grabbed him in a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay, but still,” he then repeated the curse. 

“ _ A blip, you say? _ ” Norman repeated, reading what Buddy had written. 

“Yeah,” Henry confirmed, “It’s what Buddy calls them; the little hiccups in time when I’m sent back.” 

Allsion considered the continued explanation on Buddy’s pad. “So, you never stay dead?” 

Henry shrugged, “Not yet, at least.” 

Sammy swatted his head. “Not funny, Stein.” 

“ _ But why’d the little devil- kill you in the first place? _ ” Norman asked. 

“He did it again in Alice’s domain,” Sammy muttered, seemingly dazed. 

Henry turned to Sammy in surprise, “You remember that? I thought you forgot it.” 

“I don’t… really…” Sammy lifted a hand to his chin, “I mean… I saw it again… I think, when you were…” His face pinched in frustrated thought, “I saw something, but… I can’t seem to recall what it actually... was.” 

Buddy showed his pad. [I think that, if we saw you die, we remember for a bit, then forget. I saw your death in the haunted house again, but] 

Henry tilted his head, “But what?” 

Buddy looked at his note. His expression shifted between confusion, then a cautious realization. 

[I forgot. I just proved my own theory.] The toon looked at Henry, then carefully wrote, [ Did you die in that haunted house?] 

Henry nodded, “I did. I knew Norman saw it, but he never brought it up again.” 

Buddy showed something else. [Time literally goes backward and undoes it, right? Maybe we forget because it never really happened.] 

Sammy pointed at Henry, “Didn’t you tell me that earlier?” 

“Yes,” Henry nodded, “And it’s looking more and more like it might be accurate.” 

“So how long will we remember?” Allison asked. 

Henry considered this. He stared at Sammy for a few moments, then tried to recreate how long it took for him to go through the Projectionist’s domain. “Maybe… half hour? Less?” 

Norman lifted his hand, “ _ Hold up, you never answered my question. Why’d- the little devil kill you? _ ” 

“I…” Henry studied the middle distance, “don’t know. I was getting some mixed signals from him. He kept shifting between scared child and… well, manic demon. One minute apologizing and asking me to help him, the next, stabbing me.” 

“He stabbed you?!” Allison exclaimed. 

Henry’s jaw dropped, “Uh…” 

Buddy wrote something down and showed her. 

Sammy leaned closer to Henry, “Maybe some forget sooner than others?” 

“Maybe,” Henry mumbled. He spoke up to regain everyone's attention, “Anyway, Bendy wants us to move on. He said I could help him if I went to the end.” 

Sammy scowled, “Are you sure you  _ want _ to help him?” 

Henry replied with a disappointed look. “Something is scaring the poor thing witless. He wants my help, despite the weird way of communicating that, and I’m not giving up on him!” 

Sammy’s gaze dropped, “Right.” He then crossed his arms and scoffed, “Little imp’s killed you and you’re set on saving him.” 

“ _ Well, o’ course he is! _ ” said Norman, clapping a hand on Henry’s shoulder, “ _ He cares too much- to not to!” _

Henry chuckled, “There’s also the fact that I’d like the rest of my soul back. And… something tells me we need Bendy with us if we’re going to escape.” 

Norman regarded his friend, then shrugged, “ _ Welp, guess ya need- some more practical reasons, too. _ ” 

“Well, if we need to get going, then we should.” Allison cut through the chains over a fence and gestured to the now-open gate. “Press on?” 

Henry nodded, “Press on.” 


	30. Moment Of Truth

Henry went first across the rickety plank bridge, Norman following close behind. They actually made it across the first two boards, which gave Henry mental pause. That never happened before. Usually, as soon as he reached the center of the second board, it-. 

The board under him broke. 

Both he and Norman plummeted like stones, the fast-fading voices of Allison and Sammy calling for them. 

Henry wasn’t  _ too _ worried; the fall never hurt him more than a sore ankle. 

Norman, however, actually saw what was at the bottom. 

The entire fall took perhaps a second and a half, but in just that short span, Norman grabbed Henry, turned him over, and twisted in midair, putting his body between the ground and Henry. 

They landed, but not in ink. 

Stunned for a few seconds, Henry came to with Norman roughly shoving him aside. Henry stood to help Norman up, but froze when he realized what Norman had saved him from. 

The few extra steps across the boards had meant they landed on rubble. But it wasn’t wood. Brick and metal debris littered the small lake. 

Norman lay on a mound of stone and rebar which had been crushed by his weight. His head thumped to one side and his shoulders heaved with pained breaths. His spine arched in an unnatural way, and something of his internal components looked like they threatened to be pushed through his stomach. Runny ink bled from his back over the dust and splinters. 

Henry had been on the battlefield. He’d seen horrific injuries. 

He knew what a broken back looked like. 

This was worse. 

Then Sammy fell into the lake a few meters away. He surfaced and shouted a few choice words up at the second hole in the ceiling. 

“Sammy! Shut up and help me with Norman!” 

“What? I-is he okay?” 

“No!” 

Sammy held his hands up, “All right, I didn’t-“ he spotted Norman and promptly cursed. “What happened?” he demanded. 

Henry stuttered, “H-he knew, s-somehow, that this was here, a-and-... he saved my life.” 

“Okay, I get it,” said Sammy. He stared Henry dead in the eye to get him to refocus. “What should we do?” 

Henry blinked out of his shock and inhaled. “I-... I can’t heal him here. We need to move him to solid ground.” 

“Good enough. I’ll get his head.” 

Norman must have passed out from pain; he didn’t move or make a sound, even when Henry and Sammy lifted him with a spine-chilling squelch from the rubble. 

Henry wanted to throw up. Norman’s back was crushed inward in a way that, if he’d had proper bones and organs, would have seen his spine make an acquaintance of his stomach. 

Sammy swore. He set Norman down, stepped back, and swore again. Henry’s hands lit up with gold and began to reshape Norman’s ink, and still Sammy’s mouth uttered such curses that would have made a sailor blush. He paced the length of the small path, swearing all the while. 

Henry knew he stuttered when he was nervous. He was beginning to remember that Sammy rattled off his colorful vocabulary. 

One by one, Buddy, Allison, and Tom slid down a rope. Sammy kept them from swarming Norman, explaining what happened. 

They resolved to keep watch for any inky threats while Henry kept working. Norman was mercifully still unconscious, his shoulders barely moving with his staticky breathing. 

Henry worked as well as he could with what he had. His gold ink dripped from his fingers to try and make up for the massive amount that had bled out from Norman’s body. The cables from the projector and speaker had formed a slick web of internal organs, one that did not like being exposed. They moved and turned in the loose, runny ink, having been broken from a solid anchor and tangling up Henry’s fingers in an effort to find something to cling to. 

It was the strangest thing Henry had to put his hands in, and he gagged more than once, but the urgency of Norman’s situation forced him to keep his gold ink flowing. He had no idea how long he had until his powers gave out. 

He suddenly inhaled sharply and stood up. The icy pain wasn’t there yet, but it was the images flashing in his mind that sent him reeling. 

Every other second, he was back on  _ the battlefield _ ,  _ weapon heavy on his back, his comrade’s lifeblood on his hands. The light dying in the grounded man’s blue eyes as Henry screamed his throat raw calling for a medic. Those blue eyes staring into his and blood-soaked lips mouthing a last wish. _

_ “Press on.” _

Henry’s lungs wouldn’t fill properly. His head buzzed. His ears rang. He saw the black rivulets  _ turn red on his hands. _ Some sound came from his throat.  _ He couldn’t save him. He  _ didn’t _ save him. _ He couldn’t save them. 

His body locked up. His arms curled up around his head.  _ His comrade. His brother.  _

_ He’d failed…  _

A hand struck him across the face. 

In an instant, the walls of the studio came back into focus. Henry blinked and looked to Buddy, who had his hand up ready to slap him again. 

The wolf’s pie-cut gaze was a combination of worry and frustration. He took Henry’s wrists and let out a series of growls and yips. He then grabbed his pen and scribbled a note. [Whatever it is you saw, whatever it is you remember, it’s in the past. You won’t save the present if you focus on failing to save the past.] 

Henry let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and straightened up. His fists clenched. He looked to Norman. 

_ Press on.  _

_ Save the present. _

Gold ink shimmered over his fingertips once more. He started working again. 

Allison smiled at Buddy, rubbing his head, “Nice one, Buddy. Norman owes you one.” 

Buddy stuck out his tongue and wagged his tail. 

It was then that Tom barked from around the corner. Allison and Buddy went to investigate. 

Henry’s eyes started streaming. Icy needles started sticking his wrists. 

“You good?” Sammy asked. Henry didn’t respond for a few seconds. “There’s not… I can’t keep making more ink for him. He needs… s-some kind of ink transfusion or something. The thick stuff.”

“Like this?” Allison held out a glob of thick ink. 

Henry took it, “Where did-...”

“Someone, or, maybe something dumped a bunch of it just around the corner. Tom and Buddy are getting more.” 

Henry fingered the stuff; it moved easily around his gold ink. “Perfect,” he muttered, shaping it and laying it down where it glued right where it was needed. 

“A bunch of thick ink just showing up where it never has been right when we need it?” asked Sammy with an incredulous look, “Seems a bit too convenient.” 

“Are we going to complain?” growled Henry. 

Sammy stared for a few seconds, “... No.”

The two Boris toons returned with their hands full of ink blobs. Henry redoubled his efforts and only half-heard Allison say Buddy saw something running off. 

Norman woke with a start right when Henry’s powers gave out. 

“Hold him!” Sammy yelped. 

Norman, however, needed no convincing to stay still. The crashing wave of pain that slammed his senses made his speaker shriek with feedback. Buddy got into his line of sight and motioned for him to keep calm. He’d taken a bad hit but was going to be okay. 

Norman’s speaker stuttered with his light,  _ “I-i-is Hen-ry-ry…” _

“I’m okay,” he assured, “just iced from my power. Can you feel anything?” 

_ “Ca-a-an I  _ feel  _ anythi-i-ing?” _ Norman’s hands clenched and his reels clicked agitatedly,  _ “Feels lik-k-ke a porcupine with white-hot qui-i-ills be havin’ a barn dance around-‘round-‘round where my kidneys outta be!” _

Henry snickered at the creative analogy. “Anything beside that? Can you move your feet?” 

Norman kicked the ground in response. 

Henry managed a smile, “Promising.” 

Allison’s hands hovered over Norman’s back, holding a small blob of ink. Glancing between the ink and inkling a few times, she smushed the blob a few times and let absorb into Norman’s body. She smiled at Henry, “I guess your gold ink is still acting like a sealing agent or something. Tom, give me a hand, we can finish this up.” 

Henry wanted to help, but Sammy sat him down with a hand in his face and a sharp, “ _ Stay _ . You’ve done more than enough. We’ve got him.” 

“O…kay.” Henry sat back and rubbed his eyes, urging the icy prickling to die down. 

A wave of guilt lapped at his mind. 

He’d frozen up. 

He’d seen things that weren’t there and almost lost another comrade. 

Almost lost another battle. 

Another life. 

Then he deigned think what would have happened if Norman hadn’t taken the hit for him. Landing on that rubble probably would have killed Henry instantly. 

Bile and hot tears rose to his throat and eyes. He fought them down. Norman did what he did because he wanted to. He knew what would happen and did it anyway. 

Because he cared. 

Because Henry was his friend. 

And he would do it all again, if necessary. 

Henry finally opened his eyes, watching his friends, old and new, working together to help their own and make sure their human hope was okay. 

He began to think they cared as much as he did. 

It was a nice thought. 

His eyes drooped lower. 

He might hold on to it. 

Believe it. 

Hope that it was the final key to bringing these loops to an end. 

Henry didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he woke up in a different area. He sat up, seeing Norman, who had been keeping watch. 

The inkling stood against the opposite wall with his arms crossed. Henry would have sworn he was smirking under the projector. Henry smiled back, “So it worked?” 

Norman chuckled,  _ “That it did. New ink’s a bit shifty but it’ll settle in soon enough. You all right?” _

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Henry responded, sliding off his crate bed, “I wasn’t expecting to fall asleep. Where are we?” 

_ “Just a couple hallways away from where Sammy says the giant Machine is.” _

Henry started, “You mean you went through the offices and film vault with me asleep?” 

_ “That we did.” _

Henry stared for a few seconds, finally inhaling and running a hand through his hair, “Wow, okay, I guess I’m a deep sleeper when exhausting my power is concerned.” 

Both Norman and Henry laughed. 

The group made their way down to the giant Machine’s cavern. They silently agreed to begin building a bridge to the entrance. The task was carried out in relative silence, tension rising like a rubber band about to snap. 

Or a Machine about to burst. 

Finally, they all made their way into the giant chamber to where Bendy was waiting for them. 


	31. The Deep, Dark Truth

Henry entered the throne room and the door promptly slammed behind him, locking the others outside. He turned to the grinning demon on the old high-backed chair. The throne had been pushed back against the far wall, and a circle was drawn where it used to sit, taking up most of the middle of the room. 

Bendy lounged on the throne, his tail lazily swaying back and forth. He had a dangerous grin on his face. “Well, well,  _ well _ . Ya made it back, old man. Congratulations; ya want a medal?” 

Henry glanced around the room, looking for a potential escape route if needed. “I was hoping for a chance to talk.” 

“Talk’s boring. Besides, you an’ I got a… special bond, ya know?” Bendy hopped off the throne and started toward Henry, “Wouldn’t ‘cha prefer a little soul-to-soul? Up close an’ personal?” he spat the last word. 

“What do you want from me, Bendy?” Henry asked. “I did what you wanted, I passed your test.” 

Bendy’s head tilted. “Test? Oh yeah, that was said.” He started pacing along the circle’s diameter. 

“Bendy, please,” Henry pleaded, “talk to me. What were you so afraid of in the cave? What else do you want?” 

Bendy barked an ‘Ah!’, then stood in the middle of the circle and stared Henry down, grin widening. “I want your s-  _ help _ .” Bendy’s head twitched. 

Henry noticed, “My… what? My help?” 

“That’s not…” he twitched again, then lifted a hand to his face, “ _ he’s still _ …  _ help _ .” 

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it,” guessed Henry, taking a step toward the circle. 

Bendy’s free hand was thrown up toward Henry, “ _ Yes! _ No!!!”

“No, something’s been wrong, Bendy. Believe me, I’ve noticed.” Henry took another step, “ You’ve been acting strangely this whole cycle. 

Bendy tensed and he snarled at Henry. 

Henry put his hands up, “I’m not here to fight, Bendy. Please, I just want to know how to help you.” He took another step. 

“Stay  _ away! _ ” Bendy pleaded, his two-tenored voice making itself more obvious. Ink started bubbling up through the floor and his body’s ink ran. 

Henry took another step, now at the border of the circle, “I’m here, Bendy! What’s going on?” 

“ _ Go away! _ ” 

Henry shook his head, “No! I’m not making that mistake again!” 

Bendy gripped his head and emitted a layered, warped screech. 

The doors behind Henry slowly opened, pried apart by Norman. The others squeezed between the doors and stood behind Henry, unsure of what to do. 

Sammy studied the symbols of the circle. “That’s… Henry, those are mind and soul transfer symbols.” 

Meanwhile, Bendy had calmed down slightly, though his limbs and head were still twitching. “You… brought the others?” 

Henry looked at his friends and allies behind him. He smiled and turned back to Bendy, “I did. As many as I could. We’re all a part of this, Bendy. We’re all stuck here and we all want out. We can be free, you understand?  _ You _ can be free if we work together!” 

Bendy’s head violently shook. “No! You don’t get to be-!  _ Liar! _ ” he cried, his voice warping even more. 

“I’ve never lied to you, Bendy!” Henry responded. 

“ _ An’ he’s never lied to us! _ ” added Norman. 

Allison nodded, “That’s right! He promised to set us free, and he hasn’t stopped working toward that goal!” 

Buddy barked. 

Sammy gestured at the group, “We’re proof that he’s keeping his promise!” 

“All that’s left is  _ you _ , Bendy!” Henry finished. 

Bendy held his head, his expression shifting between rage and despair, “You _don’t understand!_ No! I will not _let_ _go!_ Liar!” 

Henry took a step back, visible confusion in his eyes. “... Bendy?” 

“Get out!” Bendy snapped. He shoved the inklings and toons to the edges of the room with inky Wanderers. His wild eyes locked onto Henry. “You!” Half-melted clones spawned around Henry and grabbed him. “You’re the one I want!” 

The clones pulled Henry up to Bendy in the middle of the circle, then forced him to kneel. They pulled his arms back and to the sides. Bendy’s grin stretched too far as he harshly grabbed Henry’s chest with one hand, and his head with the other. 

The circle’s spell activated.


	32. Bargain

Henry blinked his eyes open. The area around him was dark, but light shone on him without a source. “Hello? What just-... Oh. I’m in your head again, aren’t I.” Glancing down at his feet, Henry spotted the ink sea. It was glassily still and… was it deeper? 

“H-… Hen-ry…” Bendy called, his voice tight and strained. 

Henry turned around. Bendy stood before him, but something about the devil’s off-model eyes and rigid stance stilled Henry’s impulse to rush up and hug him. “... Bendy?” 

The toon was standing ramrod straight, uncomfortably at attention. Tears wouldn’t stop spilling over his face. “Y-you… sh-shouldn’t have… co-me back.” 

“But you asked me to, so I did.” Henry chuckled once, “I-I wasn’t… _not_ going to come back.” 

“No… you need to-” Bendy yelped as his body strained upward, as if being pulled by strings. Henry heard the Wanderers’ hiss sound out from all around him. It continued while Bendy gasped and spoke, “You… never saw it. The dark truth...” 

Henry’s brow knit, “Bendy…?” 

“I’ve… been here… since the beginning… and… I won’t… let…”

“Bendy, what are you saying?” 

Bendy swallowed, “...let a traitor like you… end it. But I will end you… Betrayer.” 

A figure faded into view. A human figure, standing above Bendy, holding constructs like white strings that attached to the devil. The figure was incomplete, a simple, glowing, reddish outline of a man. It had no features on the head, except for a smile that stretched too far up its face. 

Despite the limited appearance, Henry recognized the build and that terrible grin. “J-... Joey?” he gasped, “How? We killed you!” 

Joey’s remnant tilted its head and hissed. 

Bendy replied, “You… broke me. And now… you will put me… back together.” 

Henry glowered. “And why would I do that?”

The remnant let out an awful, wheezing laugh. 

“You seem to forget…” Bendy said, “who’s pulling the strings.” 

The remnant yanked up on the strings, turning them a violent red that made Bendy scream in pain. 

“Stop, stop!” Henry demanded, “I won’t do anything if you don’t stop!” 

The remnant stopped and Bendy stood limp, panting. “Y-you-’re so… sentimental.” 

Henry bared his teeth and growled, “Stop talking through him.” 

Again the remnant laughed. “Sorry… old friend. After your attempt to… get rid of me… you left me… no choice.” 

Snapping his arm up sharply, Henry lifted the ink and lashed it at the remnant. The remnant barely glanced at the attack and froze it in midair, lifting the opposite end to wrap around Henry’s arm and twist it. 

“Don’t,” it warned, shoving Henry down. 

Henry grimaced, “What… what do you want?” 

The remnant grinned wider and hissed loudly. 

Bendy sobbed, “No, n-AH!” The remnant shocked him again, forcing him to speak for it, “Your soul! I want your soul!” 

Henry’s brow lowered in confusion, “But… you already-” 

Bendy coughed lightly and stared at Henry with a silent plea. 

Henry got the message; don’t mention that. “You want my soul.” 

The remnant hissed and nodded. 

Inhaling deeply, Henry looked between himself, Bendy, and the remnant. “One condition,” he said. 

The remnant growled and gripped the strings tighter. 

“You let Bendy go. Completely.” 

The remnant let out a sneering laugh. 

“N-no!” Bendy cried, “Henry, don’t! That’ll let it take a form of its own! You’ll d- _AHHHH!!!_ ” he collapsed, writhing as the remnant shocked him. 

“Stop it!” Henry demanded. 

The remnant stopped, pulling Bendy to his feet again. “Give me what I want, and this-…” Bendy whimpered, “…-pathetic mistake… can go free.” 

“And how do I know you’ll keep your word?” Henry asked. 

The remnant grinned. “You don’t.” Its head tilted. “So… what will it be, old friend?” 

Bendy looked up at Henry, his voice cracking, “Henry, please don’t! I’m not worth it!” 

Henry gently shook his head, “You don’t decide that.” 

The remnant pulled on Bendy’s strings, “Choose quickly, Betrayer.” It tortured Bendy again, sending the toon to his hands and knees, curling up to try and escape the pain. 

“Alright, enough! _Enough!_ ” Henry cried, curling his hand over his chest, “I’ll give it to you, just stop hurting him!” 

The remnant let the strings fall slack. One clawed hand reached out toward Henry. 

“No… don’t… please…” Bendy begged weakly. 

Henry laid his hands over his chest and focused on the warm light within. In a few moments, a shining flame hovered over his palms. He looked at Bendy, hesitated for an instant, then stepped forward and held the rest of his soul out to the remnant. 

The remnant seized the soul and immediately dropped Bendy, then leaped back, holding up its prize and cackling. 

Henry rushed forward and gathered Bendy in a hug, pulling the little devil into his lap. The toon was shivering and whimpering, holding his head. Henry glanced up to see the remnant wrapping some kind of red aura around his soul. A red shockwave then pulsed from it. 

Henry shuddered and gasped. A frigid emptiness gripped around his very core as his soul was cut off from him. 

“Y-you… don’t know w-hat you’ve done…” Bendy stuttered. 

Henry hugged Bendy tighter. “I know I’ve freed you. That’s enough.”

The remnant absorbed the soul into its featureless body, igniting a red pulse across its surface. 

It then appeared behind Henry and pounced. 

Bendy blinked his eyes open. He noticed the inklings and toons standing at the edge of the circle, held at bay by the barrier that was triggered when Bendy started the mind meld. 

Suddenly remembering what happened, Bendy let go of Henry’s head and chest and flinched back. Henry fell sideways and lay still. 

Too still. 

Bendy could feel the shocked glares boring into him. 

“What. Did. You. Do.” Sammy growled. 

“I…” Bendy felt frozen to the spot. His ink started running off him as he began to panic. He then doubled over; his insides felt like they were about to explode. 

Bendy shrieked in agony as his limbs began to contort and his body writhed. His ink bubbled and pulled, as if something within him was tearing its way out. Soon enough, to the horror of those watching, something did. 

Spines and twisted limbs ripped themselves from Bendy’s form, followed by a powerful, skeletal body. A whiplike tail with a curved blade on the end lashed around the room. Bendy continued screaming as four curved horns dragged upright to sit atop a narrow head. 

Finally, Bendy flopped to the floor, this new abomination having broken away from him. 

It stood twenty feet tall, a dripping, distorted, hellish recreation of the Ink Demon. Its arms were too long and its razor-sharp fingers too big for its hands. Its legs bent like an animal’s and ended in pointed, cloven feet. The powerful tail lashed seemingly of its own accord, the bladed end tearing through the magic barrier and metal walls as if they were paper. On its narrow head were four horns, two on the sides, curving upward in an S, and two on the front curving straight back, forming something akin to a crown. 

Sammy cursed. 

The new creature, this demon king, cackled loud and maniacally, its grin curving even more grotesquely, before leaping to one of the large vents on the wall and slashing its clawed hands through it. 

It then vanished through a port in the ceiling. The room shuddered with a few more sounds of rending metal, then plummeted.


	33. Far From Over

Norman groaned. The sound of the room hitting the bottom of whatever shaft it had been dropped down replayed in his mind. Everything hurt to some degree. He pushed himself to his hands, letting his light flicker to life. “ _ Is everyone okay? _ ” 

Allison managed her feet, “I’m okay, I think s-!” She stopped and stared at her feet in horror. Ink began to creep up her body, turning it featureless and black. “T-Tom?” she called, reaching for her husband. 

Tom found his footing in time to catch Allison as her legs started melting away. The encroaching ink enveloped the rest of Allison’s body and she melted completely, leaving an orb of ink hovering above a puddle. 

Norman switched to his soul light and illuminated Allison’s soul in the ink bubble. The bubble remained for a second or two, then dropped into the fading puddle. 

Then the same thing happened to Tom, leaving his metal arm behind. 

Buddy let out a distressed whine as his body turned black. Norman tried to get to the boy, “ _ Pup? Buddy, hang on, I-... _ ” 

He was too late. The ink claimed Buddy. 

Now trembling with dread, Norman glanced at Sammy. The inkling appeared stable; he was rising to his feet, staring at the middle of the room. 

“ _ Henry, _ ” Norman realized. His light swiveled to where he last saw them. 

Norman managed to get his feet under himself and sort of shamble over to the two bodies furthest from him. 

Those of Henry and Bendy. Bendy was uncontrollably sobbing on Henry’s chest. 

Norman sank to his knees beside them, looking from one to the other with his soul-light. 

One gold light. One soul. In Bendy. 

There was no gold light in Henry. 

Norman turned Henry onto his back and lifted his chin, pressing his fingers against Henry’s throat. 

No pulse. The skin felt cold, even under the inky fingers. 

He still couldn’t find a soul in Henry’s body. 

Norman’s hands began to shake. 

No. 

No, no, no… 

He looked again, turning his light brighter and focusing it over Henry. 

No soul. 

It only illuminated how ashen his flesh had become. 

No soul. 

He touched Henry’s head, trying to pick up something from his consciousness. 

Nothing. There was just static. 

A metallic howl whined from Norman’s speaker. He fell away from the body, scrambling from it as if it could infect him. 

Henry was-... 

Norman gripped his chest. 

No! 

How could Henry be-... 

_ No! _

He wrapped his hands around his head. 

Henry was their last hope! 

Their  _ only _ hope! 

Sammy seized Bendy off the floor and spat in the toon’s face, “What happened!?  _ What did you do to him?! _ ” 

“It wasn’t me!” Bendy cried, his face soaked with inky tears. “I’m sorry, I tried to tell him! He shouldn’t have done it! I’m sorry! Please!” 

“Norman, what is he saying?” Sammy huffed, dropping Bendy. 

Bendy gripped the front of Henry’s shirt. His sob-stuttered words were muffled by him burying his face against Henry’s chest, “H-he ga-ave the rest... o’ his s-soul a-way...” 

“ _ He’s dead. _ ” 


	34. *̷̺̬̘̾̾̑̉͜*̴̢̌*̷͖͐̇͐*̴̡͖͍̑̋͗*̸̜̝̦̉͐*̶̢̥̖̭̺͌̑͆̔̑͗*̵̥̬̘̟͉̭̈́*̵̡̧͎̭̻͝

**Ń̶̡̳͇̘̬̘̠̆̾͂̇͊́͂̑͂O̶̰̺̪͚̤̲̓̅͛̃̊͗̽̎ ̷͖͕̮͎͗̂̓͆̆͋̓̑̕M̶̢͙̑̽̈́̑̈́̃̀̕Ö̸̧͇̙̗͍̼̘̜̩̤̐̐͋͊͠͝͝R̷͖̤͕̐̐͌̃̋͌͑͊̎E̶͙̊̅̓̈́̍̋͝ ̴̡̡̡̬̈́̿͝C̷̝̯̗̑Y̶̗̦̬̪̥̒͒̌̋̃͂̍̿C̷̢̯̟̽̾̑L̵̯̺̠̿̒̅͂̕̚͝Ẹ̷͇̞͌͐̇͗S̷̢͖̲̪̙̤̘̺̝͛̎̈́̈́̾̓̈.̵̖̜̳̟͐̇̑̕ͅ ̸̦̟̯͂̂̊̀̈́͑̆̀̅͝**

  
**O̸͇͌̈́̇́͐̅̕͜N̵̲̪̰͛̀L̷̢̦̩̰̞̞̙̖̄̆̏̅̎̄̈Ỷ̷̢͈̖͎͙̞̼͙̘͐ ̸̞̜͚̊̊͐̚͠͝T̵̢̲͚̗̯̊̄̎H̷̹́̏́̃̏̏̑̓̈É̸̢̛̟͒̊͌͘͠ ̴͓̠̺̫̖D̵̠͍̖͙̫̬̞͇̞̉̾̒͐̿̄̅̃͝͠Ę̷̡̬͓̹̹͙͖̔̔̓̍̓͛͠M̷̧̢̘͇̩̲̙̼͎͛͌͂̀͗̀̿̇̅͝O̸̧̰̻̰̖͎͍̯̘̣͘N̷̢̨̛͇̟͔̟̝͋̒̽̎̓̅̋̈́ ̷̻̱̻͚͑̇́̍K̷̟͙̞͔͉͇̮̻͔̙̓͊̍̑Ḭ̶͖̒̉͘ͅṆ̵̡̦̖̘̲̤̰̰̤̒̈́͋͒̅̓̆G̶͙̏̉̅̓̔̉̊̎̉ ̷̤̞͙̃̑͊͗̓͂͘̕͠**

**The** **D̵̠͍̖͙̫̬̞͇̞̉̾̒͐̿̄̅̃͝͠Ę̷̡̬͓̹̹͙͖̔̔̓̍̓͛͠M̷̧̢̘͇̩̲̙̼͎͛͌͂̀͗̀̿̇̅͝O̸̧̰̻̰̖͎͍̯̘̣͘N̷̢̨̛͇̟͔̟̝͋̒̽̎̓̅̋̈́ ̷̻̱̻͚͑̇́̍K̷̟͙̞͔͉͇̮̻͔̙̓͊̍̑Ḭ̶͖̒̉͘ͅṆ̵̡̦̖̘̲̤̰̰̤̒̈́͋͒̅̓̆G̶͙̏̉̅̓̔̉̊̎̉** **has arisen.**

**This isn't about the Ç̸̖̗̑̅̔̌̎Y̵͉̱̖̲̐͐C̸̬̠̾̓̋̈́̈́͗͑L̷̼̰̞̑̓͗͝Ë̶̗̳̤͈́̍͐̇͐̆͠͠S̴̨̞̮͇͈̍̓̎̈̎͂̃̕ͅ** **anymore.**

**Your friends are lost.**

**W̶̭̞̥̥̤̭̎Ḯ̵̂̇͗̅͆̽̚L̶͖̼̊̋̍̈́͝L̸̡̛͖̳̣̜͙̫̦̖͜ ̴̛̗͓́̾Y̷̙͕͂͊͂̇O̷̧͚͚̰̳̗͒͜͝͝Ư̵̧̧̧̛̗͙̞̐́̒̂̃̚ ̴̛͓̖̘͖̼͇̎͋̏̊̄̕͜F̸̧͑Į̶̗̹͔̘͇̱͔͒N̶̦̝̤͖͓̹͕̰̺͛̔̽͛Ď̴̋̔̈́͌͘ ̵̳̟̒̅̂͠T̵̛͇̳͓͙̗̔̆͝H̷̓̏͑̓͐Ẹ̷̡͕̩͚̩̰͆̚M̴̧̧͎̗̻̳͒́̔̅̄̚̚?̶̳͒̔̈́**

**Your darling devil is free.**

**Ẉ̵̈̾I̴̧̘̥͆͂̂L̵͙̈͠L̴̞̲̿͘͠ ̵̖̞̤̉Y̵̧̰̤̔̇Ȍ̶̼̥͋͒U̸͔̇ ̷̬͆Ť̴̙͍R̵̳̈́̽U̷̹͔͕͛͝S̸͓̈ͅT̶̙̰̯̃͂ ̶̣̗̿̑Ȟ̴̥̼͑̈́I̶͉͂̕M̸̞̑̈́͊?̷̰̒͝**

**Your hope is dead.**

**_Ẅ̵̝̳̫͈͖͈́̈́̈̉̽̈̌̓̑̉̽̽̚͝ ̷̲̤̳̫̼̍̏̂̃̀̐̽͠ͅÌ̶̢̤̘̮͚͉̺͔̟͔͎͙̩̈́̇̀͊ ̶̣͚̟̹̜̣̖̲̟͓͈̖̹̲͇͋͒́̀͂͜L̷͔̩̖̭̻͙̙͓̫̤̟̣̟̼̈͊ ̴̻͙̺̗̙͐̈́͑̏͗̈̑͌̿̔̃̂̃̑̏̔͝L̶̨͎̭̤̖̠͙̰̦̘̲̹͂͂͆̐̆̕̕ ̵̨̯͚̠̿͊̾̿̈͐̿͗̈́̈́̕͝ͅ Y̴͖̱̺̱̖̪͙̝̼̳̚ͅͅ ̶͎̦̌̏̿O̵̼͕̺͙̔̃̃̾͑͋͒́͂͝ ̸̧̨̤͉̳͖͖̤̤̺͉̲̣̣̻̈́͋̚͝ͅU̵̢̪̰̯̖̩̐̌̆͂̓͛ ̶̫̩͒̃̈͆͑͘͜ S̷͚̺̄͒̽̂̒̈́̈́̆̇͠͝ ̸̛͖̗͔̰̘͙̬̘̞̠͐̈́͛̆̍̋̃̆̎U̶̗̅́̏̉̌̑̚̕͜͝ ̵̡̡̯̳̣͉̻͍̯̥̈̅͗͂̽͆͋͝ͅR̸̬̞̲͇̾̍̂͂͝ ̷̧̞̻͙̱͍͚̣͕̟̻̥̹͛̐̀͂̑͐̾̋͜͝͝V̷̪̫̗̰͇̮͖̫̘͓̳̻̬̮̜̑͛̎̽̃͊̓̌̅̉͜͠ ̸̬̙͔̝̿͑͐̃̃̋̽̆̋͋͆̿͠Į̵͉͙͉̩̱̲̪̈́͑̈̾̐̔̋̀̌̇͆̚̕͠ ̵̢̧̛̛͈̘̲͓̘̞̞̉͑͗͗̅̓͛̎̔̒͆͋̚͠Ṿ̴̡̪͈͚͕͚̗̻̑͊̋̈́͂͐̿͐ ̷̛̪͙̩͚͉͖̜͓̦̣̎̅̌̈̓̈̑̈́̓̄͜E̸̜͊̒͒ ̶̠͎̤̞͎̤̘͉̤̥̮͇̞͓͎͌͊̒̓̎̽͊̉̂̆͋̓̇̕̚?̷̡̰̾̀̆͋̕_ **


	35. No One Likes To Hear It

**I know it is the bane of every fanfic reader's existence, but part 2 of Cycle 414 is going on hiatus.**

**Believe me, I hate it as much as you, but I need time to get this ending properly planned. I'm afraid I cannot say how long that will take.**

**But I promise on my writer's honor, _I will get this done_. I know how it will end, and I want little more than for you guys to see this book's title come to fruition. **

**There's just... a lot.** **A lot I do know, and a lot I don't.** **Then there's collaborating with my editors and beta readers, personal motivation, and my school and job.**

 **I need a break from it all for a bit;** **I don't want working on this piece to become a chore.**

 **All that to say, t** **hank you all so much for your reads, your comments, your kudos, and just amazing support in general. I** **hope you all have an amazing 2021, and _hopefully_ , I'll be publishing soon. **

**For all you writers out there, remember to**

**_Keep Writing Anyway_. **


	36. PS? You Will Make It Happen

**Just a short time into this hiatus and there's so much progress being made for part 2!**

**Along with it came some worldbuilding, specifically in the form of prequels. Little explorations into headcanon of what happened before the studio went under; what happened when Henry left, some views into Henry's family, a glimpse into Joey's growing sadism, and even the rise and fall of Sammy and Susie's relationship.**

**These prequel shorts (PSs) are sitting pretty in a folder and would like to be shared. But in order to do so, they need a bit of motivation from you.**

**Tell you what. If you can get this story 325 hits and 35 kudos, I’ll publish one of the prequel shorts. If you then get us to 400 hits and 50 kudos, I'll publish the other.**

**If you happen to blow both milestones out of the water, I'll publish _both_ PSs at once and answer three of _your_ questions about any of the headcanon for this story's lore and/or characters (that's not a blatant spoiler, of course).**

**So what do you think? Want to make it happen?**


	37. Welp, I drew Demon King Joey with my Lackluster Drawing Skil (TM)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not an artist so he's kinda wack. I was bored and needed a better reference than the block boi I'd scribbled six months ago. 
> 
> Anyway, here's the Demon King.
> 
> EDIT   
> Apparently Ao3 is being dum and giving an error message in place of the pic? In that case, I shall employ a fren for something.

(If the pic doesn't load,[ here's a doc with the image](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ZjGb5reBHYfwvqQxWNXGaa3Dlr-H61V0hQ-yzv5Y0_g/edit?usp=sharing) that hopefully works.)


	38. PREQUEL SHORT: Henry's Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was gonna wait until later to publish, but I'm impatient as much as I procrastinate. Besides, I promised a PS when you hit a milestone, sooooo...
> 
> *drops story*  
> *scampers back to the void*
> 
> Ho-kay, welp hope you enjoy!

Henry took a deep breath, dreading what he knew was a conversation long overdue. His hand ached from the weeks of constant use, and his vision wouldn’t quite focus. He honestly didn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a good night’s rest.

That was something he had to include in this dreaded conversation. Dreaded because Joey didn’t take kindly to someone telling him he was doing something wrong. It had been tried before to… no success. Once Joey was set, he wouldn’t move.

Now with his nerves tightened even more than before, Henry pushed through the director’s office door.

Joey smiled that joyless smile. “Henry! You’re looking well. What can I do for you, my friend?”

“Joey, I... I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Henry said.

Joey’s head tilted. He stood behind his desk. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. I’ve been giving everything I’ve got; my time, money, sanity, my... my _life_. Sometimes I feel like you want me to sell my soul to this place.”

Joey appeared nonplussed.

“I haven’t spent quality time with my family or friends since this company started. I haven’t seen Linda-”

Joey scoffed and tossed one hand. “Come now, Henry, they aren’t important!”

Henry’s gaze followed Joey as the director stepped around his desk to a shelf of memorabilia on the wall. “My _future wife_ isn’t important?” Henry challenged, appalled and throwing a glare at Joey’s back.

Joey turned and stepped toward Henry with his hands reaching out, “Just take a look at the bigger picture!” He straightened and turned, hands folded behind him, “Your _girlfriend_ isn’t worth more than this great empire we’ve raised,” he sneered.

A sudden outrage made Henry seize Joey and crack him across the face. “SHE IS TO ME!”

Joey staggered back, hand lifted to his dropping jaw.

Henry’s shoulders heaved, “Honestly, I walked in thinking you’d understand. Guess I’m walking out knowing you never will.” He turned for the door.

“Come on, Henry, be reasonable.”

Offended, Henry turned back, “R-! Reasonable?! You can’t see reason past your own ego! Honestly, I don’t think you see people working here, I think you see tools. And one of these days, you’re going to find out what happens when those tools no longer want to be used.” Again, Henry took the door handle.

“You walk out that door,-” Joey threatened, “-you forfeit your rights to what you’ve made here. Your buddy, your _Bendy._ Are you really going to leave him to me?”

Henry sighed. His jaw clenched with his grip. He matched Joey’s low tone, “I’ve known since the day I showed you my first sketch, you haven’t let me have Bendy. Maybe one day I’ll grow the spine to fight for my creations.” Henry glared ice at Joey, “Right now, I won’t let you have me.”

Henry left.

===

Norman slammed the door open. “Sammy!”

The musician flailed, “Norman, I have one rule-!”

“Henry’s leaving!”

“... What?”

===

Henry hurriedly stuffed whatever he could fit into a box. “You’re not changing my mind,” he told Norman, “If you can do anything, then follow me.”

“Follow you?” Norman glanced to Sammy, then back to the artist, “Henry, we need these jobs.”

“I know, but this place... I haven’t noticed before now, but this place isn’t... good. There’s some kind of bad seeping into the walls. If you don’t get out soon, I don’t think you’ll get out ever.”

“Henry, you’re sounding a bit manic,” said Sammy.

“Believe me or not, I’m going, and I’ll only be coming back if to get you out. If you’re smart, you’ll leave before then. Please, I’m asking as a friend; get out of this place and away from Joey.”

Henry’s two friends glanced sorrowfully between each other. Sammy rubbed the back of his neck, lost for words for once. Norman inhaled deeply and laid a hand on Henry’s shoulder, “At least let us see you out.”

Henry nodded his approval. The three made their way to the exit, passing Wally, who stared at them with a wide-eyed understanding. Was that a touch of triumph in his eyes? Henry shook the thought aside as sunlight made his tired eyes ache. He stepped across the threshold, then paused and turned to his friends. “I… guess this is goodbye.”

Sammy scowled, “It better not be, Stein. I don’t think there’s anyone else here I can tolerate.”

Norman swatted him upside the head. He then offered Henry a firm handshake, “I’ll keep an eye on the place in the meantime. Ain’t nothin’ here gonna go unnoticed. And, uh, if what you’re sayin’s true…”

“Just be careful,” Henry said.

“Be seeing you, Henry,” bid Sammy.

Henry smiled at the two, then stepped onto the sidewalk, letting the studio’s door shut behind him.

= = =

Henry set his stuff on the floor of the living room, not having the energy to put it in his room yet. His cat, a jet-black female with green eyes, padded up and rubbed against his leg. Henry smiled sadly and reached down to pet her, “Hey, Ink.” He dug through the box until he found his sketchbooks.

Henry sank into the couch with a long sigh. Ink hopped up beside him, laying her head on his leg and starting to purr. Henry stroked the silky fur with one hand while he flipped through the sketchbook with the other.

This was the one he had when the company started. Every page was filled, most with Bendy. Design concepts, anatomy tests, poses; everything about how Bendy came to be.

Not every page was just the little devil, though. There were several sketches of people. Henry’s coworkers and friends took up the better part of the middle. Sammy playing his banjo while Bendy tap-danced along, Bendy making hand shadow puppets in the light of Norman’s projector, Wally getting a bucket of ink on the head from one of the devil’s pranks, Sammy again, this time conducting a whole band of Bendys. Everyone looked so happy and carefree, with wide, genuine smiles.

Henry smiled at the drawings. “I should ink these,” he thought. He turned another page, and instantly frowned. He remembered drawing this one; in it, he held an excited Bendy, and Joey had his arm over Henry’s shoulders.

Henry had a sudden urge to rip the page out. Instead, he simply took a breath and turned it.

The remaining pages consisted solely of posing references and doodles. Henry closed the book and tossed it back into the box, opening the next one.

For the first several pages, it was all still Bendy. Then, slowly but surely, doodles, concepts, and references of Boris began to appear. There was one series that crossed the whole length of the book. “This was when I was trying to figure out what instrument to give him,” Henry chuckled to himself. The doodles often had Sammy beside them, giving little quoted quips about what the musician thought for each instrument.

The next pages were more Boris, then Boris and Bendy interacting. This trend continued, along with some doodled interactions with studio staff, until the first sketches of Alice appeared in the final three pages.

As Henry opened the third, unfinished sketchbook, he wondered if Alice was ever going to make an appearance.

The final book wasn’t even half filled. It was here that Henry recalled he stopped showing his sketchbook to his friends. There were some drawings in it that weren’t of the toons. Rather, they were more self-indulgent and showed more of his growing exhaustion, and his shortening fuse with Joey.

Between the doodles of the now-trio of toons, there were drawings of Joey building a wall between Henry and his brother, and of Linda standing by herself, only able to hear from her fiancé through the phone wire.

Then a drawing Henry forgot he’d done. It was angry and scrawled, the lines having no care put into them. There was one word at the top, in all caps, reading ‘consuming’. The drawing was of Henry, slaving over his desk, while Joey stood a few feet away with his back to Henry, holding out a hand full of creeping puppet strings that threatened to capture Henry, while in Joey’s other hand were more strings which tangled up a struggling Bendy and kept him from reaching Henry.

Ink perked up and ran to the garage door. A second later, Ken walked through. Henry heard him chuckle and greet his pet, “Hey girl, how’s the house been since I’ve been gone, huh?”

Ink meowed and started toward the living room.

“Something to say?” Ken asked, following. He stopped short when he saw Henry.

Ken instantly knew something was up. Henry was never home this early, if he came home at all. Ken saw his brother’s despondent look and the box of belongings, and immediately put two together. “You quit.”

Henry nodded.

Ken threw his hands up, “Finally!”

Henry stared at him, not expecting that response. Ken continued, “For heaven’s sake, Hen, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you for weeks! I’ve been _hoping_ you would quit!” He looked Henry up and down, “Now what’s that look for?”

Henry scoffed, “Thought you were gonna give me the whole ‘press on’ speech.”

Ken pinched the bridge of his nose, “Hen, that speech is for giving up on something that would ultimately be good for you, not a job that has turned you into an empty, soulless husk of who you once were.”

Henry internally cringed. “Was… it that bad?”

“Yes!”

Henry groaned and sank his head into his hands. “Ken, I’m real sorry.”

Ken sighed and leaned over to hug his younger brother, “I’m just glad you’re home. An’ you can make it up to me by calling Linda. Not-! Right now,” he interrupted Henry’s motion to stand, “You just rest for tonight. And tomorrow. You can call her in a day or two, once you get enough sleep to think straight again.”

Henry’s hand rubbed at his forehead, “I hope she doesn’t think I’m a bad fiancé.”

“She doesn’t. And you blot out that notion right here and now,” Ken chided, “That woman loves you too much to give up on you now. She’s the one who knows how to press on for the right things. Or, in her case,-” he winked at Henry, “-the right _one_.”

= = =

A week later, a package arrived from the Studio.

The package was unremarkable, a small storage crate wrapped in brown paper. A loop of twine held it shut, and a folded note was taped to the top. Henry pulled the note free and unfolded it.

Sammy’s polite cursive met him from the paper. Henry could swear he could hear the musician’s voice through the ink as he read it. He set the note down and untied the box.

“Whatcha got there?” Ken asked, poking his head in the room.

Henry smiled, “Some kind of, uh, care package, I think. From the guys at the studio.”

“Oh? What’s in it?”

Henry took out the objects as he listed them, “Letters and notes, trinkets, memorabilia, and aha, a few things I left.” Papers, small booklets, a pen, and an ink bottle all came out of the box. Something flat on the bottom was covered with a soft cloth. Henry lifted a corner and his eyes went wide, “No way.” He scoffed and uncovered the object, “He did not.”

“Didn’t what?” Ken asked, now intrigued.

Henry lifted the paper sleeve and dropped the black disk into his hand, laughing in disbelief. Ken tilted his head, “A record?”

“Not just _any_ record,” Henry turned it to his brother, “A Sammy Lawrence original. This is the first mix of music he did for the cartoon. This record is one-of-a-kind.”

Ken smiled, “Kinda nice he’d give it to you.”

Henry raised his hand, “No, no, you don’t understand. Sammy didn’t have access to this. Joey kept it on the player in his office. The fact that they took it was bad enough, but to send it away from the studio…” Henry tilted his head back, a wide grin on his face, “Joey is going to flip his lid when he finds out.”

Ken took the record and inspected both it and the sleeve while Henry looked through the letters.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“There’s no letter from Joey.”

Ken rolled his eyes, “One, do you think the guys told him about this? Two, do you really think Joey would have contributed?”

Henry drummed his fingers on his knee, “No.”

“Well,” Ken handed the record back to Henry, “At least the men you worked with were better than the one you worked for.”

Henry looked at the things strewn about him. His brow lowered, “I just… still kind of wish there’s something we can salvage. Between Joey and I, I mean. We were going somewhere with Bendy, I know it! Just… not in the right way.”

Ken clicked his tongue, “Well, you still got good relations with the others. Maybe you can keep in contact with them. Maybe they can be a sort of mediator between you two. That is, if Joey doesn’t come begging for you to come back.”

Henry grumbled, “Knowing Joey, he’ll either show up groveling for me to come back, or have my name blotted from company knowledge.”

“No in-between?”

“No in-between.”

Ken clapped his hands together, “Well! Can’t wait to see what happens!”

Henry chuckled. He took the package and its contents to his room, then sat down and started reading the letters. Maybe he _would_ keep in contact.

For as long as he got responses, at least.

**///O0o.o0O\\\\\**

**NOT AN ARTIST (so plz don't judge too hard)**

**I DREW THAT 'CONSUME' DRAWING IN HENRY'S SKETCHBOOK IN BOTH TRADITIONAL AND LINELESS DIGITAL BC I ~~LIKE TO~~ TORTURE MYSELF WITH CREATIVE MEDIUMS IN WHICH I HAVE VERY LITTLE TALENT.**

**(so here they is)**

**EDIT: _welp_ now _I’m_ getting blank boxes that won’t load. [So here’s a link just in case.](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ZjGb5reBHYfwvqQxWNXGaa3Dlr-H61V0hQ-yzv5Y0_g/edit)**


	39. holy hecc, there's fanart now???

**There comes a point where one feels like he’s hit a milestone of being a creator. People making fanart of his story is one of those milestones. It utterly amazes me that people have this kind of artistic talent and they choose to pour it out in honor of stories they like. And for someone to make something like _this_ **

( [link just in case it won't load:)](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ZjGb5reBHYfwvqQxWNXGaa3Dlr-H61V0hQ-yzv5Y0_g/edit?usp=sharing) )

**...in appreciation of my little fanboy story was unexpected and quite overwhelming. I never thought something like this would happen. I did not expect to gain a following of such talented people that genuinely enjoy what I have to offer. Then for said people enjoy it so much, they apply their own talents to it!**

**So to _thedemonsurfer_ for making this jaw-dropping piece... to all of you absolutely amazing readers who keep flooding my dash with support... **

**Thank You.**


	40. PREQUEL SHORT: Sammy's Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well, well, well-well-well-well-well-well-well!  
> Look who it is, the wonderful fans who hit the second milestone for the prequel shorts! Congratulations! 
> 
> *tosses story*  
> *scampers to the end for an announcement*

Norman leaned against the doorframe of the main room to the Music Studio. “Hey Sam, ya hear the news? Joey decided he wanted to give Alice a voice. Like, fer real.”

Sammy didn’t look up from his music. “Don’t call me Sam. And why do I care?”

“Well, the dame singin’ for her is gonna do so in that booth, right alongside the band.”

Sammy’s attention snapped to Norman. “A woman? I-in my studio?”

“Yup.” Norman popped the ‘p’ and internally snickered at the red rising to Sammy’s ears. “An’ I hear she’s quite a gal,” he sang, striding away all proud of himself for embarrassing the hapless romantic that was Sammy Lawrence, try as he might to hide it.

===

Jack Fain watched his boss pace to and fro, Sammy’s hands moving about as if they had a mind of their own. Sammy seemed flustered and ruffled ever since Susie had sung Alice’s theme that morning. The music director had summoned his lyricist for the vague reason of ‘needing a better Angel’.

“It’s not enough!” he said, that being the only understandable words Jack had heard from him in the past fifteen minutes. “It’s too mundane. Someone like her needs a song that will let her come to life! Something positively extraordinary!”

Jack glanced at the unfinished score under his hand, “Sir, are we sure we’re still talking about Alice?”

“Don’t-” Sammy stopped pacing for a moment and pointed at Jack, “-don’t patronize me, Fain.”

Jack smiled, “Sir, all respect, I may not have Mister Polk’s keen eye, but even I can see you’ve got a flame for the dame.”

“You are treading on fragile ground, Jack,” Sammy warned, though his voice held no danger.

“We could all see it!” Jack insisted, “You had more focus on her than on your music, and, according to you, it’s ‘nothing short of impossible’ to get your attention away from your music.”

Sammy resumed pacing, his arms crossed and tense. He turned a few rounds, then stopped and tapped his foot. “... Do you think Joey knows?”

“Well maybe. Why?”

“He won’t like it.”

“Does Mister Drew like anything?”

“Not since Henry left.”

“Hm.” Jack lifted the brim of his hat with his pencil, “He sounded like a nice guy. Wish I met him.”

===

Joey cocked an eyebrow at the gofer, “New theme for Alice? Why? What was wrong with the first one?”

“I dunno, Sir. He just told me to deliver it.”

Joey hummed, “Well, thank you for telling me. Run along, now.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The door closed. Joey’s demeanor shifted to contempt as he stared down the music in his hand. ‘I’ll Be Your Angel’, read the title.

Joey’s mouth curled down into a cruel scowl. “So, Samuel, let me guess. You’ve ignited a flame with Miss Campbell and want to give her something special for Alice. That won’t do, prophet. That won’t do.”

===

The ring shopkeeper smiled warmly at Sammy, “Good morning, sir. How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a ring fit for an angel,” Sammy declared, not bothering to hide the adoration in his eyes.

“Ah, a special one, then?”

Sammy chuckled and shook his head, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“One moment, sir, I’ll get a selection for you.”

Ten minutes later, Sammy had to hurry on his way to the Studio. He had made a choice for the ring, but would have to pick it up later. Thankfully, the teller was more than happy to hold it for him.

He walked into the Music Department with a spring in his step.

Norman noticed and let out a wheeze. “Oh no-hoho,” he drawled.

Sammy smirked at him, “What?”

“Ya lookin’ yer 'bout to start swingin'.”

“You shut it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, check your inbox. Somethin’ went out earlier.”

Sammy’s brow lowered, “What is it?”

Norman shrugged. “Dunno. Haven’t mustered up the will to care enough to read it.”

Scoffing, Sammy made his way to his desk and unfolded the delivered paper. One read took him straight to Joey’s office. He barged in and planted the memo on Joey’s desk. “What did she do wrong?”

Joey appeared profusely unbothered by the uncouth intrusion, “Sorry?”

“Susie. You fired her. Why.”

Joey lowered the booklet he was writing in. He took his time to close it, open a desk drawer, put the book in, and close the drawer. He then planted his elbows on the desk and tented his fingers. “Mister Lawrence, it would do your position here a great favor if you did not question my decisions. Susie just… well, we found someone better. She’s coming in today, and it will be your job to make sure she is well-integrated.”

Sammy opened his mouth, then stopped himself. He stuffed the memo in his pocket and turned away without another word, knowing that any more could get _him_ fired as well.

“Samuel.” Joey snipped. His voice was like that of a hunter to snared prey, “Try not to let yourself get _distracted_ by this one, hm? Can’t afford our prophet’s eyes to be turned from his lord.”

Sammy cringed at the use of his name and the unfiltered malevolence in Joey’s voice. It sent a shiver down his spine. He swallowed the knot in his throat to make way for the words that were tearing their way out of him. “Yes… my l-“ he caught himself, “Yes s-sir.”

Sammy got out of the office. He stepped away from the door and breathed deeply, his eyes stretched wide. Why had the office room suddenly seemed to darken and fill with choking smoke? Why did Joey use that strange metaphor? Why did he then feel forced to call Joey his ‘lord’? Why did Joey call him a prophet?

_Writhing shadows invaded Sammy’s vision. He saw ink dripping over his hands and a living web of shadow reaching for him from behind Joey’s office door._

Then he tripped and hit the floor.

Sammy sat up, dizzy and wondering what on earth just happened. Something metallic soured his mouth. He looked at Joey’s door, the action bringing a strange sense of foreboding.

He then remembered the memo in his pocket and Joey’s absolute disregard of his feelings about it. Sammy stood and fumed his way back up to the Music Department.

A gofer met him at the door with a woman. The gofer introduced the two, “Miss Pendle, this is Mister Sammy Lawrence, our music director. Sir, this is Miss Allison Pendle. She’s the new VA.”

Allison smiled warmly, “How do you do, Mr. Lawrence?”

Sammy felt his ears heat up. By the stars, this woman was gorgeous. He chased the thought away with a waved hand. “Fine, fine. If you could come with me, we’ll get you set up in the recording booth.”

Allison seemed to be right at home in the glassed box. She read the score for Alice’s song and smiled at it, “ _Pop Goes the Weasel_?”

“We were pressed for time,” Sammy grumbled. “And it was the one Joey approved.”

Allison’s head tilted, “As in, there was another one? Can I see it?”

“No.” Sammy snapped, “I mean… it’s…” His hand pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s all right, Mr. Lawrence. I’m sorry.”

Sammy sighed, “It’s not your fault.” He put his professional face back on, “All right. Do you need to warm up at all?”

“Yes, please. Some scales will be fine.” 

Sammy started at middle C and went three octaves, duly impressed with Allison’s range. “Well, you certainly have a voice to fit,” he commented. 

Allison giggled politely, “Thank you, Mr. Lawrence. I can’t wait to start on my first cartoon!” 

Sammy’s gaze fell to the piano keys. 

“Is something wrong?” Allison asked. 

Sammy tapped the keys, wondering if he should tell her. Allison sensed his dejection and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her. Her eyes showed genuine concern. He opened his mouth to tell her when the door opened. 

Susie walked in, “Thanks for waiting, Sammy, the trains were delayed something-” she interrupted herself when she caught sight of Allison, her hand still on Sammy’s shoulder, “-... fierce.”

Sammy stood sharply, “Susie, why-... weren’t you-?”

“Who is she?” Susie pointed at Allison with malice in her voice. 

Sammy looked between the two women, one on the edge of fury, the other confusedly concerned. He held a hand to Susie, “This isn’t what it looks like.” 

“Then what is it?” Susie’s tone remained low. She leveled a look at Allison, “Who are you?” 

Allison stepped forward with her hand extended, “Allison Pendle. Mr. Drew hired me for the voice of Alice Angel. Do you know Mr. Lawrence?” 

Susie didn’t shake Allison’s hand. “Voice for Alice-! _I’m_ Alice Angel! I’ve been voicing her for the past two years!” 

Allison’s hand lowered. She looked at Sammy, “Is that true? She’s the one I’m replacing?” 

Sammy looked like he was going to be sick. His face had drained of color and cold sweat beaded his head. 

“ _Replacing?!_ ” Susie exclaimed, “No one’s replacing me! _I’m_ Alice Angel!” 

Sammy fumbled his hand into his pocket and pulled out the memo he’d gotten that morning. 

“What is that?” Susie asked. 

Sammy read the memo again, wondering how Susie didn’t know she was being replaced. Then a folded part of the paper fell loose. Sammy extended it and read the order on the bottom. _‘Deliver to all except Susie Campbell.’_

Outrage flared in Sammy’s chest. 

Then Susie snatched the paper from him and raked her eyes over it. 

Sammy again tried to reach for her, “Susie, I-... I didn’t know that-... that you didn’t know.” 

Susie shoved the paper back at him, “Liar!” She stormed out. Sammy dropped the paper and ran after her. “Susie, wait!” 

She marched on, disregarding him. 

He caught up and stepped in front of her, “Susie, please, believe me, I thought you knew.” 

Susie snarled at him, “Even if I did, do you think I would have given up Alice so easily?”

Sammy’s mouth opened, but she wouldn’t let him answer. “I thought there was something between us, Sammy! I really did! This part, this place, you, I loved it all.” Her voice softened, then hardened again with a glare, “And then I walk in and you’re with that... that _other_ woman, saying she’s _replacing_ me!” 

“Susie-“

“Don’t _‘Susie’_ me, Lawrence. You let me fly for so long only to steal my wings and give them to someone else!” 

“It wasn’t my decision!” Sammy stuttered.

Susie growled, “But you could have done something about it! Talked to Joey, I don’t know, done something other than nothing!” 

“I only got that memo this morning, there was nothing-“

“Nothing you could do?” Susie snapped. She swore at Sammy. “I hope you sleep well tonight knowing you’ve kicked me from heaven.” 

“I-“

“You have fun with your “Allison Angel”.” With that, she shoved Sammy aside and slammed the door behind her. 

“But-” Sammy winced at the slammed door. “But... _you_ are my angel,” he finished sadly. He stepped up to the door and laid a hand on the knob, but something kept him from going after her. 

Norman’s head peered over the railing. He said nothing, set on catching Susie before she left. He ran from his post, past the Music and Art Departments, and rounded a corner to find Susie in the break room, her back to him. He slipped in carefully, “Miss Campbell?” 

Her posture tensed. “Don’t you have some projector to fix, reel-head?” 

“You can’t blame Sammy for this.” 

“Can’t I?” She turned to him, her eyes moist with unshed tears. “Can’t I, Norman? He lied to me.”

“How?” 

“He-” she swallowed and tossed her hand, “He told me I was going to be the only Angel, that no one else could hope to fly higher than me," her voice cracked, "I told him—that I’d be h-his angel.” 

Norman shook his head slowly, “None of us could have known this would happen.”

“Then why wasn’t I told? I saw that memo, Norman. It said to not deliver it to me.” 

Norman’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, “The order was directly from Joey. And some of us have become too afraid to oppose him. He’s... been having that effect lately.” 

“Well someone ought to stand up to him,” Susie huffed. 

“I agree,” said Norman, “But those who do don’t last long.” 

Susie grumbled and rolled her eyes. 

“Look,” Norman started, “Sammy didn’t want this to happen. Frankly, most of us didn’t. And surely you know that he cares for you too much to knowingly hurt you like this.” 

Susie’s gaze flicked to his. 

“He loves you Susie. He loves you a lot. Don’t give up on him, please.” 

She glanced away. A blink sent a tear down her face. She set her jaw and shook her head, “I can’t, Norman, I-... I don’t... I can’t forgive him for this. He said he’d help me fly and now he’s let me fall.” 

“Susie please; if you leave, I don’t think he’ll be the same.” 

She glared at him, “Oh so now you’re condoning the liar’s behavior?” 

“What? No!” Norman swiped his hands, “I’m not condoning nothin’! He’s my friend, and I can see what he felt for you, _still_ feels for you!” 

Susie marched forward and got in Norman’s face, “Well if he’s so _feeling_ for me, then how come I’ve never heard it from him? _Three words_ can save him, Norman. And until he tells me himself, I _won’t_ forgive him.” 

She pushed by him and stormed out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that I said if you all "blow both milestones out of the water" I'd answer a few questions, but I never actually defined what qualified. But! I have decided that hitting both in just under a month counts! 
> 
> What does this mean, you may wonder? It means that you, the reader, can comment a question about JaHE’s lore, characters, or plot and I will pick a few to answer (without spoilers)!  
> So go ahead! Ask those burning questions. You beautiful humans deserve it!


End file.
